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REESE  LIBRARY 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 
Deceive 


REESE  LIBRA] 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CAL. 

hl'O^yC^ 
Accession  No.  /^"«2  0  6'  •   Class 


xtyilosoptyy 
of 


PHILOSOPHY 

OF  THE 

HERMETICS 


ISSUED   BY  AUTHORITY  OP  THE 


There  are  some  wbo  will  see  and  seeing  will  perceive, 
others  hearing  will  understand. 


B.  R.  BAUMGAKDT  &  CO. 

PRINTERS  AND  PUBLISHERS, 

LOS  ANGELES,  CAL. 


COPYRIGHT,  1898,  BY  D.  P.  HATCH 

OF 

lyOS  ANGELES,  CAL. 
Alt  rights  reserved. 


LOS  ANGELES,  CAL.: 

B.  R.  BAUMGARDT  &  CO. 

231  W.   FIRST  ST. 

NEW  YORK: 

rAPHYSICAL  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 
465  FIFTH   AVE. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

PREFACE 5 

HERMETICS 7 

PHILOSOPHY 9 

FAITH 13 

CONCENTRATION 18 

PRACTICE 22 

MEMORY 26 

IMAGINATION 31 

THE  BOOK  OF  REVELATION 37 

PRIDE  AND  PHILOSOPHY ;...  41 

WHO  ARE  THE  CRANKS? 47 

ONE  DAY 53 

SECRET  GRIEF 56 

COLD  DESPAIR , 61 

BEAUTY— ART— POWER 65 

SPIRITS  AND  DEVILS 70 

DEATH— WHAT  OF  IT? 73 

NATURE'S  JEST 79 

YOUR  FRIEND 83 

THE  ONE  THING 86 

THE  DEVIL 90 

THE  PAIRS 94 

ADONAI 98 

MAGIC 103 


PREFACE. 


Nature  has  a  way  of  concealing  and 
revealing.  She  tells  half  her  story  out  in 
the  sunshine  in  a  loud  voice,  and  the  other 
half  in  whispers  underground. 

She  is  coy  like  a  coquette,  and  stern  like 
a  judge.  She  excites  curiosity  in  the 
student,  and  dread  in  the  debauchee. 

She  holds  the  man  of  science  to  her 
breast,  but  is  dumb  to  the  lover  of  pleasure. 
She  scorns  the  victim  of  priestcraft  and 
repudiates  the  supernatural.  The  Sage 
takes  his  cue  from  his  mother;  like  Nature, 
he  conceals  and  reveals.  He  who  would 
see  other  than  the  smiling,  scowling  face 
of  Hermes  must  search  the  dark  places 
by  the  light  of  his  own  candle ;  Hermes 
locks  the  gate  between  the  outer  and  inner 


Temple;  and  he,  only,  enters  the  latter, 
who  has  the  pass  word  and  the  key. 

In  reading  this  book  please  notice  how 
the  essays  vary  in  style ;  some  of  them 
falling  into  a  weird  rhapsody,  others  laconic 
and  plain  — The  Mystic  will  understand  the 
reason  of  the  difference,  while  another  will 
peruse  only  the  words. 

The  barbaric  splendor  of  Nature  reveals 
truth  and  law  as  surely  as  does  her  terrible 
logic.  She  speaks  in  poetry  and  in  prose. 
Facts  are  rarely  ever  naked,  but  often  not 
only  draped  but  masked.  The  occult  eye 
sees  straight  to  the  heart  of  a  fact,  while 
the  normal  lens  dwells  on  the  habiliments. 

Enough  has  been  said  save  this  —  Man 
inevitably  cometh  unto  his  own. 


THE  HERMETICS. 


Wlio  were  they  ?  What  are  they  ?  They 
were  those  who  could  speak  or  keep  silent. 
They  are  those  who  whisper  or  shout.  They 
believe  in  silver  and  gold.  "  If  speech  is 
silver  silence  is  gold."  They  believe  in  the 
conservation  of  energy,  and  its  transforma- 
tion. They  believe  in  the  Unit  and  in  the 
many — the  special  and  the  general.  They 
have  found  the  Philosopher's  stone — the 
elixir  of  life.  They  catch  glimpses  of  Eldo- 
rado— the  promised  land.  They  know  time 
and  realize  eternity.  They  comprehend 
distance  and  space.  They  circumscribe  the 
square  with  the  circle,  and  death  with  life. 
They  teach  an  eternity  of  being,  and  an 
endless  variety  of  form.  They  wed  involu- 
tion to  evolution,  and  yesterday  to  tomor- 
row. They  insist  on  object  as  the  mirror 


of  subject,  and  consciousness  as  the  child  of 
the  two.     They  hold   that  Nirvana  is  poise 
—a   motionless     motion — the     paradox    of 
being. 

To  find  the  Hermetic  out  of  Thibet  is  to 
discover  him  next  door.  He  is  as  likely  to 
be  in  broadcloth  as  in  adept's  robe — and  as 
possible  in  London  as  in  Benares.  He  is 
rare.  Gold  is  not  picked  up  without  stoop- 
ing, nor  the  fountain  head  discovered  with- 
out searching.  Swine  are  about  and  pearls 
are  treasured. 

Enough,  save  this — The  false  implies  the 
true. — Chaos,  order. — The  word,  secrecy.— 
"  The  one  thing,  many." 


PHILOSOPHY. 


With  your  heart  filled  with  emotions, 
your  head  stormy  with  thought;  with  your 
back  on  the  years  behind  you,  facing  the 
years  ahead — you,  a  man,  stand  trembling 
with  the  consciousness  of  self,  and  wonder 
what  next. 

Philosophy  !  ah  me !  Philosophy  !  When 
the  heart  beats  to  the  tune  of  love,  or  your 
brain  throbs  with  a  master-passion — Philoso- 
phy !  you  plunge  headlong  into  life  as  the 
comet  into  space-living-living-living-only 
living. 

Philosophy !  What  need  have  you  ?  Your 
blood  surges  up  to  your  heart  and  on  to  your 
head — you  feel,  you  think — Philosophy  ! 
Life  is  for  life,  you  say — Philosophy !  but- 
but-you  hav'nt  it-life,  only  a  shiver  of  it- 
only  a  thrill  of  it. 


io  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 


Philosophy  brings  it-life.  She  is  beauti- 
ful— she  carries  a  cup  in  her  hand — it  is 
gold;  she  begs  you  to  drink  and  live.  She  is 
your  hand-maiden — Philosophy — the  cup  is 
pure  metal — the  drink  is  elixir — life.  As 
man,  you  are  mortal;  you  have  stood  in  the 
sunshine  so  long  you  are  blind.  As  man, 
you  are  drunk  with  a  drop  of  pure  life; 
you  have  listened  so  long  to  the  seas,  you 
are  deaf.  Philosophy  brings  you  the  cup  and 
you  drink,  and  you  open  your  eyes;  she  waits 
— and  you  listen  and  hear — what — what  do 
you  see — do  you  hear? 

Yourself—  in  the  sun,  in  the  sea — your- 
self in  the  sky,  in  the  air — yourself  in  the 
winds,  in  the  stars — yourself  in  the  depths, 
in  the  heights — yourself  in  the  distance — 
yourself  nearer  home — yourself  in  the  open 
— yourself  in  the  closed— yourself  in  the 
seen  and  unseen — yourself  everywhere; 
yourself  in  her  eyes — Philosophy's  eyes — 
yourself  in  her  voice — Philosophy's  voice — 
yourself  in  the  speech  of  the  beasts,  in  the 
song  of  the  birds,  the  rustling  of  leaves;  in 
nothing,  in  something,  in  naught  and  in  all; 


OF   THE  HER  ME  TICS  n 

in  negative,  positive,  neither  and  both;  in 
you  and  in  other,  in  other  and  you. 

Life! — inward  and  outward,  receding  ad- 
vancing, coming  and  going — Life  !  Feeling 
is  feeling — thinking  is  thinking — Life! 
Sleeping  is  sleeping — waking  is  waking — 
Life  !  Living  is  living — dying  is  dying — 
Life! 

Open  the  windows  and  breathe  the  fresh 
air — open  the  windows  and  look  at  the  sky 
— open  the  windows  and  feel  the  soft  rain — 
breathe — breathe — breathe  full  to  the  chest 
— breathe. 

I've  traveled  the  spaces  by  thinking — I've 
mounted  the  zenith  by  wishing — I've  floated 
in  air  by  a  longing — I've  melted  in  mist 
when  a  dreaming — I  have  flashed  in  the  fire 
by  desiring — I  have  blended  in  water  by 
looking — I  have  entered  a  soul  by  aspiring. 
I  am  many  or  one — I  am  one  or  the  many. 

Each  day  is  mine  own  not  anothers;  each 
day  is  all  days,  all  days  are  each  day. 

I  floated  in  blood  in  the  veins  of  a  bird, 
and  beat  in  his  heart  to  the  tune  of  his  wings ; 
I  sucked  at  the  breast  of  a  flower  and  dripped 


12  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 

in  the  honey  of  bees;  I  spun  the  fine  silk  of 
a  web,  and  tied  up  the  knots  of  a  snare;  I 
have  lain  in  the  arms  of  a  cloud  and  turned 
up  my  face  to  the  sky;  I  died  and  entered 
the  tomb,  and  rotted  away  in  a  corpse;  I 
crawled  through  the  pores  of  the  earth  in  the 
succulent  bodies  of  worms,  and  buried  myself 
in  the  mire  to  shiver  with  cold  in  a  stone. 
Ah !  Life  and  Philosophy  !  Wisdom  and 
Life! 

Do  you  ask  me  the  reason  of  all,  I  give 
you  the  reason  of  none;  do  you  ask  me  the 
reason  of  none,  I  give  you  the  wisdom  of  all. 

You  burn  with  desire  and  you  thrill; 
then  dip  in  the  blood  of  yourself  and  write 
on  the  parchment  a  scroll,  and  read  in  the 
letters  the  words,  and  read  in  the  words  the 
command,  and  in  the  command  the  design, 
and  in  the  design,  the  beginning  and  end; 
and  living  you  read,  and  reading  you  live; 
and  cease  to  be  mortal,  but  soar  as  a  god. 

If  ever  the  bush  is  on  fire  harken  for 
language  and  hear;  something  is  speaking — 
listen  and  listen — something  is  shining — 
the  bush  is  on  fire. 


OF  THE  HERMETICS  13 


FAITH. 

We  will  present  the  subject  of  faith  in  a 
secondary  aspect,  and  show  you  how  to 
make  out  of  it  a  mighty  lever  towards 
accomplishing  results.  We  advise  you 
to  be  alert,  and  in  a  certain  sense  skep- 
tical in  all  save  the  principle  upon  which 
you  found  your  premise. 

Take  as  a  starting  point  yourself,  for  it  is 
not  necessary  to  travel  far  from  home  in 
order  to  find  a  subject  on  which  to  work. 
Believing  in  your  existence,  a  priori,  and 
resting  upon  the  fundamental  consciousness 
of  the  Ego,  suppose  you  branch  out  into 
a  series  of  unusual  experiments  as  to  what 
the  possibilities  of  that  Ego  are. 

Most  people  find  certain  dominant  tend- 
encies uppermost,  and  are  entirely  satisfied 
to  develop  and  live  by  them,  never  striving 


14  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 

to  discover  hidden  mines  within  themselves 
along  lines  where  they  have  not  taken  the 
trouble  to  penetrate. 

If  you  see  a  leaf  floating  on  the  wave  at 
sea,  you  have  some  reason  to  think  that 
land  is  near.  May  it  not  be  possible  that 
some  indication  as  small  as  a  leaf,  floats 
round  on  the  sea  of  your  being,  and  you 
have  failed  to  draw  any  conclusion  from  it. 
The  mariner  discovers  the  bit  of  green,  and 
makes  for  the  shore ;  you  discover  the  sign 
of  unseen  things  and  sail  out  into  deeper 
waters. 

The  lesson  we  would  teach  is  this,  observe 
the  signs,  no  matter  how  insignificant ;  let 
them  create  in  you  a  sort  of  conditional 
faith  ;  follow  them  up  and  see  what  you  will 
discover. 

The  scientist  is  well  used  to  this  condi- 
tional faith ;  it  is  not  absolute  faith,  but  a 
suspension  of  judgment,  an  abandonment  of 
prejudice,  and  a  simple  research  based  upon 
indications.  When  the  miner  strikes  a  sign 
of  color,  a  certain  faith  is  developed  in  him; 
it  is  conditional  of  course  ;  it  is  based  on 


OF   THE  HERMETICS  15 


possibility,  not  on  probability.  It  is  quite  a 
different  thing  from  a  man's  faith  in  gravi- 
tation or  repulsion.  It  is  what  might  be 
called  a  blind  faith  ;  and  the  only  excuse  for 
its  being  is  that  in  time,  it  will  develop  into 
a  certainty  or  fall  through  altogether,  in 
other  words  prove  itself. 

Suppose  for  instance,  you  find  at  some 
one  time,  that  you  have  seen  clairvoyantly, 
treat  that  as  the  leaf  on  the  sea  of  your 
being ;  follow  it  up,  and  be  not  astonished 
if  you  land  on  the  shore  of  an  unknown 
country.  Your  faith  which  was  suf- 
ficient to  lead  you  to  explore,  has  brought 
you  a  certainty  which  translates  itself  into 
an  added  power. 

The  reason  that  we  insist  on  a  conditional 
faith  such  as  the  scientist  has,  is  this;  if  you 
blindly  follow  signs,  so  swallowed  up  in 
your  belief  that  you  are  incapacitated  to 
reason,  or  to  think,  or  to  bear  disappoint- 
ment, you  will  become  fanatical,  and  lose 
your  discrimination  and  power  of  judgment. 

There  is  a  faith  that  is  prepared  for 
either  success  or  failure ;  it  is  a  kind  of  half 


16  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 

belief  in  a  thing,  still  strong  enough  to  lead 
one  to  honest,  unbiased  investigation  about 
it.  It  is  the  proper  faith  for  one  who  inves- 
tigates spiritualistic,  psychic  and  sleight-of- 
hand  phenomena ;  a  watchful,  fair,  consider- 
ate faith  which  weighs  the  pros  and  cons  in 
an  investigation,  and  allows  no  undue  influ- 
ence to  be  brought  to  bear  either  for  or 
against  the  result  sought. 

This  is  strictly  the  scientific  faith,  and 
it  is  the  first  essential  in  the  mind  of  the 
student  of  Philosophy.  It  should  be  laid 
down  as  an  axiom  by  all  beginners  in  the 
pursuit  of  knowledge,  that  our  desiring  or 
not  desiring  a  thing  to  be,  cuts  no  figure  in 
the  investigation.  Truth  does  not  arrange 
herself  to  suit  us,  but  forces  us  to  conform 
to  her. 

If  we  enter  the  study  of  Philosophy  with 
certain  fixed  ideas  of  what  we  would  like  to 
have,  and  of  how  we  wish  the  Universe  to  be 
conducted,  we  are  pretty  apt  to  abandon  the 
pursuit  when  we  come  to  find  out  that  Truth 
does  not  cut  her  clothes  after  a  pattern  of 
our  own  designing.  Truth  is  safe  enough 


OF  THE  HERMETICS  17 

and  we  can  not  improve  upon  her.  It  is  our 
business  to  pursue  her,  and  catch  and  hold 
some  aspect  of  her  if  possible,  otherwise  we 
had  better  return  to  our  delusions. 

To  find  Truth  we  must  use  the  scientific 
method,  which  is  always  founded  upon  a 
temporary  faith ;  a  premise  assumed  for  the 
time  being,  as  a  test  of  the  possibility  of  the 
solution  of  the  problem.  This  is  not  the 
supreme  faith  which  is  founded  upon  the 
principle  of  being,  and  must  be  the  rock 
upon  which  we  build  up  any  lasting  struc- 
ture. It  is  the  shifting  faith  which  can  be 
abandoned,  as  we  find  the  object  upon  which 
it  is  fixed  useful  or  not ;  but  we  do  insist 
that  when  you  start  out  to  explore  yourself, 
and  to  discover  the  latent  possibilities  within 
you,  that  you  do  as  Columbus  did,  who 
hoped  to  find  a  new  Continent,  which  up  to 
the  day  when  the  first  sign  of  land  appeared, 
was  to  him  and  the  whole  of  Europe  an 
image  and  a  dream. 


i8  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 


CONCENTRATION. 

We  urged  you  in  the  last  talk  to  go  on  a 
voyage  of  discovery  in  yourself,  and  see  if 
some  waking  potentiality  was  awaiting 
development.  In  this  paper  we  desire  to 
insist  on  the  use  of  concentration  to  this  effect. 
You  who  think  you  know  how  to  concen- 
trate, will  find  on  attempt  at  a  sustained 
effort  how  difficult  it  is,  and  how  weak  you 
are. 

Look  back  and  see  how  many  things  you 
have  begun,  how  many  good  resolutions  you 
have  made,  and  how  much  you  have 
attempted  and  failed  to  complete. 

Youth  climbs  up  the  ladder  of  his  own 
hopes  and  scans  the  prospect ;  he  expects 
to  do  every  thing,  to  conquer  every  thing ; 
he  levels  mountains  of  opposition  in  his 
own  mind.  He  figures  on  becoming  king 


OF   THE  HER  ME  TICS  19 

of  opportunity  and  creating  it  at  his  own 
bidding.  Notice  him  ten  years  later  sitting 
at  the  foot  of  the  ladder  of  his  dreams.  He 
has  spent  his  summers  and  his  winters,  his 
springs  and  his  autumns  in  dabbling. 

First  an  attempt  at  this  and  then  at 
that,  tasting  here  and  there  of  everything 
and  nourished  by  nothing.  He  starts 
down  a  road  to  view  an  object,  and 
slips  off  into  a  byway  to  view  something 
else.  He  gets  to  singing  a  new  tune  and 
forgets  the  first  stanza  of  the  old  one.  He 
knows  people  and  forgets  their  names,  or  he 
knows  their  names  and  forgets  their  faces. 
He  is  forever  experimenting  and  never 
finishing ;  he  rests  half  way  up  the  moun- 
tain and  a  positive  climax  is  something  that 
he  knows  nothing  about. 

Look  over  your  life  and  see  what  you 
have  done.  You  have  dipped  into  books, 
but  they  never  dipped  into  you.  You  have 
studied  human  nature  and  been  cheated  a 
hundred  times.  You  have  kissed  a  friend, 
and  then  another  without  reading  the  heart 
of  the  first.  You  came  to  the  realm  of 


20  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 


Philosophy,  and  wandered  around  in  a  maze; 
you  plucked  a  leaf  and  threw  it  away  ;  you 
inhaled  the  perfume  of  a  flower  and  passed 
on;  you  gathered  a  bouquet  and  tossed  it 
into  the  stream  ;  you  dabbled  your  feet  in 
the  water,  and  washed  your  face  in  the  dew ; 
and  then,  you  entered  the  front  door  of  a 
church  and  passed  out  at  the  rear. 

You  tickled  the  wings  of  cupid,  and  he 
flew  away,  and  sitting  down  on  a  grave  you 
sighed ;  and  the  next  week,  you  danced. 
Such  your  life.  Now  you  come  to  our  doors 
and  knock  ;  and  we  say  to  you,  from  behind 
the  lock,  "Can  you  look  at  the  point 
of  a  pin — and  look  and  look.  Can  you 
rest  on  a  premise,  and  think  and  think 
up  to  the  conclusion — can  you  pile  up 
facts  on  facts  to  the  pinnacle  of  a  principle — 
can  you  study  on  one  line  to  the  very  end  of 
the  question — can  you  act  on  your  conclu- 
sion as  against  the  world — can  you  resist 
straying  to  the  right  and  left  when  you  have 
started  towards  a  place  or  condition — can 
you  keep  on  aiming  with  the  same  stone  at 
the  same  spot  till  you  hit  it — can  you  stay 


OF   THE  HERMETICS  21 


fixed  in  any  pursuit  any  length  of  time,  or 
are  you  a  child?" 

Start  out  with  yourself  and  follow  the  leaf 
on  the  wave  of  your  sea;  follow — follow — 
concentrate  and  follow,  by  the  blind  faith 
of  science,  some  sign  in  yourself  till  its  value 
be  disclosed.  Be  like  the  dog  that  gives 
chase,  and  is  bound  to  be  in  at  the  death  or 
the  capture. 

We  tell  you  now,  at  the  very  inception  of 
the  study  ot  Philosophy,  that  you  must  have 
two  kinds  of  faith;  one  absolute,  the  other 
secondary  and  changeable;  also  concentra- 
tion; without  these  it  is  useless  to  go  on. 

To  cultivate  concentration  you  must  prac- 
tice. Cultivate  that  bull-dog  tenacity  to  hold 
on  to  a  thing  till  you  know  what  it  is,  if  you 
have  once  decided  to  grapple  with  it. 

Look  into  yourself  and  see  if  your  past 
indicates  concentration ;  if  not,  begin. 


22  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 


PRACTICE. 

There  is  something  truly  pathetic  in  the 
lives  of  those  who  preach  and  do  not  practice; 
who  revel  in  the  generalities  of  Philosophy 
as  a  sort  of  intellectual  tonic,  and  are  at  the 
same  time  too  lazy  to  try  the  formulas  and 
hold  fast  to  that  which  is  good. 

I  desire  you  to  avoid  a  method  of  prac- 
tice that  is  backed  by  habit.  To  take 
stated  times  to  become  good  (say  Sundays),  is 
not  at  all  after  the  manner  of  our  system; 
and  if  you  continually  pursue  this  means, 
you  will  grow  as  fixed  as  a  rock  crystal. 

Life  is  your  business,  all  kinds  of  life; 
rustling  among  men,  eating — drinking — 
sleeping — just  as  Christ  did;  and  the  best 
time  for  you  to  practice,  is  all  the  time. 

I  who  give  you  these  instructions,  know 
what  life  is  from  its  pleasures  to  its  agonies; 


OF  THE  HER  ME  TICS  23 


from  its  feasts  to  its  graveyards  ;  and  the 
more  of  a  Philosopher  I  am,  the  more  do  I 
know  of  its  fulness.  So  when  I  tell  you  to 
practice,  I  mean  that  you  are  to  stay  where 
you  are  and  practice. 

The  great  need  of  the  world  is  the  living 
Philosopher.  Cloisters  are  out  of  date. 
Monasteries  are  old  fashioned ;  they  belong 
to  the  middle  ages. 

People  must  clash  with  each  other  in 
order  to  live ;  must  feel  each  other's  pulse, 
and  jostle  shoulder  to  shoulder;  they  must 
mingle  magnetism,  I  might  say,  and  give 
and  take.  In  this  rush,  this  hurry,  is  the 
time  to  try  your  cult  and  test  its  value. 

If  you  hide  a  diamond  in  a  box,  it  loses 
all  its  power  to  be  saucy  and  throw  back  the 
sun's  rays  to  the  sun;  in  fact  it  forgets  after 
a  while  that  it  is  a  diamond  at  all,  and  be- 
comes as  sullen  as  a  cold  pebble.  If  you 
have  anything  good,  you  must  find  it  out; 
and  you  never  can  do  that  by  shutting  your- 
self up  in  an  occult  room  and  imagining. 

Do  not  mistake  us;  we  told  you  to  con- 
centrate, and  contemplate  the  point  of  a  pin, 


24  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 


but  not  forever.  While  a  certain  amount 
of  daily  retirement  into  "your  closet"  is 
good,  just  as  rest  is  necessary  after  exercise, 
too  much  of  it  is  bad.  Learn  to  concentrate 
and  act  too;  this  is  practice  of  the  best  kind. 
Have  a  purpose,  a  means,  a  way,  and  ACT 
on  it.  Having  a  theory  and  getting  no  fact 
out  of  it,  is  like  having  a  friend  who  will 
never  embrace  you. 

Concentration  and  action  should  go  to- 
gether. To  be  sure,  you  should  reverse  and 
retire  into  yourself  when  the  occasion  de- 
mands, but  never  periodically  and  to  order. 
Learn  to  do  it  when  you  have  need  of  it  (and 
you  can  tell  that)  but  do  not  do  it  because 
you  have  arranged  to. 

We  preach  practice  from  morning  until 
night;  all  the  time,  everywhere.  Your 
Philosophy  should  stick  to  you  closer  than 
the  hairs  of  your  head,  and  should  put  in  an 
appearance  on  every  occasion.  If  it  is  good 
for  great  things,  it  is  good  for  little  things. 

This  does  not  mean  that  you  are  to  be  like 
the  self-conscious  Christian  who  can  never 
get  rid  of  his  sense  of  responsibility;  on  the 


OF   THE  HERMETICS  25 

contrary,  it  assures  you  the  best  that  there 
is  in  life.  It  shows  you  how  to  extract  the 
most  honey  from  the  flower,  the  grestest 
beauty  from  the  landscape,  and  the  truest 
love  out  of  a  fellow  mortal.  It  is  also  a  sort 
of  accident  policy,  it  bestows  on  you  a  weekly 
allowance  in  case  of  something  unfortunate 
and  unforeseen ;  and  if  you  die,  it  pays  up  to 
the  last  penny  those  whom  you  have  left 
behind. 

It  is  practical,  practical,  practical,  and  if 
what  you  are  getting  is  not,  you  hav'nt  the 
right  thing.  Practice  at  all  times,  and  when- 
ever you  fail  in  making  the  application,  you 
are  that  far  short  of  grasping  the  situation. 


26  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 


MEMORY. 


When  you  go  down  into  the  shadowy 
place  where  the  sun's  rays  can  not  come, 
you  are  reconciled  to  the  gloom  because  you 
remember.  What  is  it  that  you  remember  ? 
That  the  sun  still  shines.  You  know  very 
well  that  not  a  ray  can  penetrate  where  you 
are ;  that  as  far  as  you  are  concerned,  for 
the  time  being,  the  Giver  of  Life — the  Con- 
soler— the  Sun — might  as  well  be  put  out. 
It  is  a  dark  place — gloom — gloom — gloom 
every  where,  and  along  with  the  gloom, 
dampness  and  chill.  But  what  of  it — your 
memory  serves  you  well — you  recall  the 
splendor  outside — the  half  hour  ago  when 
you  basked  in  heat  and  color — all  the  tints 
that  the  sun  brings  out — all  the  brilliancy 
— and  instead  of  a  realization,  you  substi- 
tute a  memory. 


OF  THE  HERMBTJCS  27 

In  your  pursuit  of  Philosophy,  understand 
that  your  path  will  not  be  all  sunshine. 
Philosophy  does  not  undertake  to  supply 
glory  and  glitter,  nor  does  it  guarantee  you 
a  freedom  from  shadows  and  tears.  Philo- 
sophy does  not  undertake  to  change  nature; 
it  gives  you  no  seven-leagued  boots  with 
which  to  stride  over  the  land — no  sandals 
like  those  of  Pallas  Athene,  nor  wings  of  a 
Mercury.  Philosophy  lets  Dame  Nature 
alone  so  far  as  changing  her  is  concerned  ; 
in  fact  she  is  very  self-willed  and  like  all 
feminine  things,  has  her  own  way ;  but  here 
is  a  secret — Philosophy  deals  with  nature 
somewhat  as  a  good  husband  does  with 
a  stubborn  spouse ;  Philosophy  manages 
nature  through  her  own  attributes.  A 
natural  attribute  by  the  way,  is  memory. 
Philosophy  knowing  this,  brings  it  to  bear 
at  the  right  time,  and  reaps  the  reward. 
Philosophy  has  much  tact,  just  as  a  wise 
husband  has. 

To  use  art  in  remembering,  is  an  essen- 
tial towards  Philosophic  life.  To  be  a  good 
forgetter,  is  as  necessary  as  to  be  a  good 


28  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 


recaller.  There  is  nothing  more  uncomfort- 
able and  out  of  place,  than  to  have  some- 
thing that  you  have  put  under  the  sod, 
protrude  its  head  at  the  wrong  time.  When 
you  bury,  bury  deep,  and  do  not  dig  up  the 
thing  unless  you  want  it. 

Some  memories  are  bores,  just  like  some 
people ;  they  stay  and  stay  out  of  pure 
viciousness,  and  the  more  you  curse  them 
the  more  staying  power  they  show.  A 
Philosopher  will  never  allow  this  ;  he  knows 
that  he  can  get  rid  of  one  memory  by  sub- 
stituting another,  just  as  you  would  shove 
an  impertinent  person  out  of  a  chair  and 
put  another  in  his  place.  As  you  can  forget 
by  a  sort  of  substitution,  you  can  remem- 
ber by  a  mental  suggestion. 

When  down  in  the  shadow,  recall  some- 
thing— a  star,  a  diamond,  or  a  friend's 
eyes ;  and  see  how  quickly  the  place  will 
glow  as  if  a  sun  had  been  born,  with 
dropped  lids — it  is  the  same.  There  is  a 
flash  and  a  shimmer  in  the  fire  of  memory 
which  radiates  in  the  now,  if  you  desire  it. 


OF  THE  HERMETICS  29 

Let  us  carry  this  lesson  farther.  Physi- 
cal darkness  is  but  one  phase ;  there  is  a 
mental  and  a  spiritual  blackness  which 
tongue  can  not  speak  of,  nor  pen  portray. 
Even  in  this  dungeon  of  dungeons  memory 
can  send  a  straight  ray,  and  turn  black  to 
white,  night  to  day.  When  you  recall  the 
sun,  at  the  time  shadows  enshroud  you, 
with  that  recollection  comes  the  conscious- 
ness that  the  sun  is  a  fixed  fact — that  it  ex- 
ists, and  that  shadows  can  not  extinguish 
it ;  this  makes  you  safe  ;  safe  in  your  mind, 
safe  in  your  heart ;  you  wrap  the  mantle 
of  darkness  about  you,  and  laugh  in  the 
face  of  the  night — for  the  sun  IS.  You 
have  remembered. 

When  any  trouble — gloom — mood,  en- 
folds you  in  a  cloud,  remember  that  the 
sun  /5,  and  the  rays  are  warm,  love  warm, 
and  they  shine  somewhere  even  in  your 
recollection,  and  with  the  remembering 
will  come  a  flash  like  that  of  Jupiter  on 
Olympus — like  that  of  a  friend's  eyes — 
and  black  will  turn  to  white  and  night 
to  day. 


30  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 

This  is  the  office  of  memory.  Memory 
is  your  servant,  if  you  can  only  realize  it, 
memory  is  your  slave,  and  all  slaves  impose 
upon  their  masters  when  allowed. 

Put  impertinent  memories  to  sleep ;  wake 
up  the  right  one  at  the  right  time ;  and 
cheat  Dame  Nature  into  believing  that  she 
has  conquered  Philosoph}^. 


OF  THE  HERMETICS  31 


IMAGINATION. 

To  imagine  something  is  to  call  up  an 
image  in  the  mind  by  the  will.  This  is  vol- 
untary imagination.  Involuntary  imagina- 
tion (which  is  a  bad  thing  always)  is  that 
state  where  the  image  or  images  come  of 
their  own  accord,  oftentimes  as  unwelcome, 
vulgar  or  wicked  guests. 

Most  lewd,  vile,  uncanny  people  are  tools 
of  the  imagination.  Images  which  seem  to 
be  like  conscious  entities,  persist  in  dwelling 
in,  and  dominating  the  untrained  tenant 
of  an  abused  brain,  and  do  incalculable 
mischief  to  him  and  those  with  whom  he 
associates. 

Imagination  is  man's  greatest  friend  and 
his  greatest  enemy;  if  you  control  him  he 
will  serve  you;  and  no  artist  can  paint  pic- 
tures as  beautiful  as  his.  Command  him  to 


32  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 

sketch  the  sea,  the  sky,  the  stars,  the  unseen 
and  seen  wonders  of  earth  and  heaven,  and 
he  will  produce  instantaneous  results.  He 
will  decorate  your  castle  for  you  and  place 
you  in  it;  he  will  create  an  interior  environ- 
ment that  will  so  overpower  your  soul  that 
crude  outer  surroundings  will  cease  to 
trouble  you. 

Imagination  controlled  by  the  will,  is  the 
one  thing  to  be  desired.  On  the  other  hand, 
involuntary  imagination,  that  creature  which 
like  a  snake  slips  into  your  sanctuary  in  the 
dark  and  conceals  itself  to  coil  and  sting 
when  you  are  totally  unable  to  combat  it,  is 
to  be  abhorred  and  dreaded.  Not  that  he  is 
forever  ugly — the  serpent  has  an  unrivaled 
grace,  and  is  a  marvel  in  color — not  that, 
but  he  is  unreliable,  treacherous  and  poison- 
ous; he  may  not  sting,  but  if  he  does  the 
antidote  is  hard  to  find.  Worse  than  that, 
he  is  eternally  reproducing  himself;  he 
brings  forth  a  brood,  or  rather  like  the  worm, 
the  more  you  divide  him  the  more  alive  he 
becomes;  each  piece  of  him  in  its  turn  ma- 
turing and  producing. 


OF  THE  HERMETICS  33 

He  turns  your  mind  into  a  nest,  and  wal- 
lows in  it  as  the  swine  wallow  in  the  sty.  He 
loves  luxury  and  splendor  as  does  the  har- 
lot; and  his  beauty,  when  it  glitters  has  all 
the  fascination  of  a  lewd  woman. 

The  true  sage  controls  his  imagination 
somewhat  as  he  does  his  memory,  putting  it 
out  as  he  would  extinguish  a  lamp,  or  light- 
ing it  as  he  would  kindle  a  fire.  The  true 
sage  can  build  himself  an  air  castle  that 
floats  in  a  cloud,  and  frescoe  it  with  the  pic- 
tures of  angels.  He  can  conjure  forms  of 
grandeur  that  outrival  nature's  own  work; 
and  create  storms,  the  thunders  of  which 
will  drown  the  voice  of  Jupiter.  He  can  tint 
the  rose  and  perfume  the  lily;  still  further, 
he  can  create  the  NEW,  and  build  palaces 
that  no  architect  before  him  has  conceived, 
and  design  landscapes  that  as  yet,  are 
strangers  to  the  brush.  The  sage  but  wills 
and  his  servant,  the  imagination,  does. 

On  the  contrary,  he  who  is  unwise,  is  the 
coward  lackey  of  his  Master  Imagination. 
He  grovels  at  his  feet,  and  hides  his  head, 
and  stops  his  ears  against  the  horrors  thrust 


34  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 

upon  him.  He  fears  the  dark,  and  dreads 
being  alone.  He  is  tortured  about  his  health, 
and  magnifies  every  twinge  of  pain  into  the 
death  agony.  All  symptoms  are  to  him  as 
fatal ;  he  sleeps  in  his  own  coffin  every  night, 
and  is  resurrected  from  the  grave  every 
morning.  His  dreams  are  all  warnings  and 
prognosticate  some  future  weal  or  woe. 

His  animal  instincts  run  riot,  while  he  is 
fettered  and  bound;  his  progeny  haunt  him 
like  bad  children,  and  lean  on  him  for  sup- 
port. The  air  is  peopled  with  his  loathe- 
some  offspring,  and  they  follow  him  where- 
ever  he  goes. 

This  fate  is  inevitable  to  him  who  allows 
his  imagination  to  go  rampant.  In  time, 
his  will  falls  to  sleep  and  he  becomes  like 
one  in  fever — the  prey  to  uncanny  dreams — 
or  like  the  brandy-soaked  victim  who  is  ever 
terrified  at  the  reptiles  which  his  diseased 
fancy  brings  forth. 

Take  your  imagination  in  hand,  and  hold 
it  as  you  would  a  pair  of  horses ;  do  not 
let  it  break,  but  pull  on  the  bit  even 
though  it  foams  and  writhes.  To  have 


OF   THE  HERMETICS  35 

your  imagination  run  with  you,  is  to  have 
it  bring  you  up  any  where  either  throwing 
you  upon  the  rocks  or  landing  you  in  the 
gutter. 

Every  one  has  imagination  in  some  form. 
The  power  to  call  up  images,  is  in  all 
normal  human  minds,  and  the  power  to 
bid  them  leave  is  there  also. 

The  sage  can  free  his  mind  of  either 
unpleasant  memories  or  undesired  imagin- 
ation, by  an  effort  of  pure  will  or  by  a 
substitution.  It  is  just  as  easy  to  substi- 
tute one  imagination  for  another  as  one 
memory  for  another. 

The  power  to  conjure  is  a  ready  power 
and  easy  to  handle;  ghosts,  hobgoblins, 
saints  and  sinners  will  come  at  a  wave  of 
the  magic  wand,  and  if  you  did  but  know 
it,  at  another  wave  they  will  disappear. 

Evil  imagination  leads  to  suspicion, 
this  (as  a  rule)  is  a  bad  tenant.  To  be 
forever  suspecting,  is  to  go  through  life  as 
some  people  go  through  a  kitchen,  sniffing 
right  and  left  for  bad  smells ;  searching 
out  hidden  corners  with  an  eye  for  finding 


36  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 

fault;  weighing  all  commodities  with  a 
pair  of  test  scales,  under  pretext  of  detect- 
ing theft;  or  like  one  who  steals  into 
places  at  unsuspected  times  on  the  lookout 
for  scandal ;  listening  at  key-holes,  prowl- 
ing like  a  cat  at  night,  peeping  into 
windows,  over-hauling  coat-pockets,  rum- 
maging desk  drawers,  talking  in  ambiguous 
phrases,  dealing  in  hints,  implying  every- 
thing and  saying  next  to  nothing. 

All  this  is  the  fruit  of  an  ungoverned 
imagination ;  and  in  its  train  come  jealousy 
and  envy — a  hideous  pair — who  trample  on 
hearts  and  reputations,  and  mark  their 
trail  with  a  stream  of  blood. 

Catch  your  imagination  while  you  can, 
and  wither  it  with  a  glance  of  your  eye; 
otherwise  it  will  curse  you — and  in  cursing 
you,  will  curse  the  world. 


OF  THE  HERMETICS  37 


THE  BOOK  OF  REVELATION. 


It  is  not  the  Koran,  nor  the  Bible,  nor 
the  Tripitaka.  It  is  not  the  sky  with  its 
glittering  pattern  of  stars,  nor  objective 
nature  as  manifested  in  the  sea,  the 
mountains,  the  rocks  nor  the  rivers.  It  is 
not  hidden  in  the  debris  of  the  past,  nor 
written  upon  the  tombs  of  Egyptian  Kings. 
It  is  not  stamped  upon  tables  of  stone,  nor 
will  it  come  in  handwriting  upon  the  wall. 
No  savant  will  search  it  out  for  you  in 
some  concealed  vellum  covered  thickly 
with  hieroglyphics  ;  nor  will  some  priest 
of  the  future  reveal  it  to  you,  taken  down 
from  the  mouth  of  an  angel. 

To  go  far  to  find  it  will  be  to  waste  your 
time.  To  wait  to  have  it  come  to  you,  will 
be  as  fruitless  as  the  waiting  for  an  impos- 
sible Judgment  Day. 


38  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 


The  Book  of  Revelation  exists,  neverthe- 
less, and  its  pages  can  be  counted  by 
hundreds.  It  is  in  many  volumes,  bound 
in  skins  finer  than  that  of  the  sheep  or  the 
chamois.  Its  letters  are  written  in  the 
three  fundamental  colors  intershaded  by 
many  tints  ;  some  of  them  flash  fire,  and 
some  are  wet  with  tears.  It  is  fully  illust- 
rated with  pictures  in  pigment  mixed  with 
blood,  and  in  etchings  of  black  and  white. 
The  scenes  are  humorous,  grotesque,  be- 
wildering, sad,  ecstatic,  divine. 

"And  where  is  this  book,"  you  ask;  I 
answer,  "Look  within,  read  yourself,  and 
behold  the  revelation" 

The  skin  covers  enfolding  each  volume 
inclose  a  life  of  your  being — the  fine  skin 
covers — the  tale  is  your  own  sorrowful, 
happy  story  which  never  ends,  but  has  se- 
quel after  sequel  eternally.  The  letters  pick 
out  the  emotions,  in  dark  or  light,  in  blood 
or  fire.  The  blank  pages  are  your  dream- 
less sleeping  hours;  and  each  sentence  points 
the  moral  like  the  finger  of  fate. 

It  is  the  Book  of  Mystery — the  record  of 


OF  7HE  HERMETICS  39 

the  dead  and  the  living — its  initial  letters 
speak  beginnings  and  the  closing  word  of 
every  page  its  endings.  You  can  read  this 
book  from  first  to  last,  or  backward  from  last 
to  first.  It  reveals,  reveals,  reveals.  The 
more  yon  read,  the  more  you  learn.  No  two 
pages  are  alike;  no  two  scenes  are  the  same, 
yet  one  flowers  out  of  the  other  as  naturally 
as  the  rose  from  the  bud. 

It  is  an  inspired  book;  inspired  by  Mother 
Nature,  by  the  Priest  of  Friendship,  by  the 
God  of  Love,  by  the  King  of  Evil. 

It  contains  prophesies  innumerable  and 
warnings  without  number.  Its  sallies  of  wit 
conceal  an  element  of  sadness;  its  snatches 
of  pathos,  a  strain  of  gladness.  In  the  read- 
ing, your  eyes  travel  between  the  lines,  and 
up  and  down  and  right  and  left.  The  words 
form  into  things  and  the  things  become 
alive;  even  the  thoughts  march  on  in  file,  a 
long  procession  holding  volume  to  volume, 
as  an  army  spans  a  river  and  binds  land  to 
land. 

This  book  was  used  at  your  christening, 
and  will  be  brought  forth  at  your  funeral. 


40  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 

It  is  given  to  you  for  a  plaything  in  your 
cradle  and  will  be  folded  in  your  hands  in 
your  coffin.  It  is  your  Sacred  Book — your 
Bible — your  Bhagavat — your  Ritual.  It 
encases  your  prayers  and  your  psalms. 
Alas !  it  embodies  your  evil  thoughts  and 
your  woes. 

Each  letter  casts  a  shadow,  and  the  bright- 
est throws  the  blackest.  It  is  illuminated 
with  its  own  light,  and  the  color  of  the  glow 
varies  with  the  turning  of  the  pages.  It  is 
written  in  hieroglyphics  which  you  alone 
can  understand — and  even  you  puzzle  over 
the  letters,  when  naught  but  the  dictionary 
of  objectivity  can  help. 

Study  the  world,  that  you  may  find  its 
final  interpretation. 


OF   THE  HERMETfCS  41 

o  c      I  f  F)  j> 


/V 

f  UNIVERSITY 

-4 
PRIDE  AND  PHILOSOPHY. 

It  is  not  strange  that  pride  is  the  usual 
vice  of  all  young  Philosophers.  By  young 
Philosophers  I  mean  those  just  beginning 
the  pursuit  of  a  genuine  system.  The 
first  result  of  ardent  and  earnest  investiga- 
tion is  an  increase  of  power,  and  with  power 
comes  pride.  A  consciousness  of  strength 
makes  one  teem  with  self-respect,  or  in  other 
words  an  emotion  which  the  vulgar  call 
conceit. 

To  be  a  few  inches  higher  than  your  fel- 
low-men on  the  ladder,  enables  you  to  look 
down  upon  them,  and  alas  !  to  despise 
them.  We  condemn  self-respect,  pride,  self- 
love  and  self-pity,  because  to  respect  your- 
self is,  to  a  great  extent,  to  be  satisfied;  and 
to  be  satisfied  in  this  sense  of  self-admira- 
tion, is  to  check  all  further  advancement 
along  the  line  of  consciousness. 

A  respect  of  self  is  simply  another  way 


42  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 


of  being  proud  of  self,  and  this  entire  sen- 
timent should  be  replaced  by  a  something 
which  puts  the  contemplation  of  self,  in  the 
petting,  coddling,  comforting  way,  entirely 
out  of  your  thought. 

Pursue  a  thing  for  its  own  sake — beauty 
— art — health — happiness,  and  in  the  pur- 
suit after  the  ideal  self-respect  will  be  killed. 
Do  not  be  alarmed,  there  is  no  danger  of 
your  going  wrong  in  this;  the  object  of 
your  pursuit  will  save  you  from  degrada- 
tion. When  you  are  on  the  chase,  no  one 
can  hurt  you  by  enticements  or  allurements. 
You  will  not  stop  to  lie  or  to  steal  or  to  do 
vulgar  acts.  You  have  no  time  to  call 
names  or,  in  any  manner,  to  lower  your 
moral  standard. 

Other  people  will  honor  your  concentra- 
tion and  the  results  produced  by  it.  You 
have  no  need  to  contemplate  yourself,  or 
pay  homage  to  your  own  soul. 

Pride  is  an  uncomfortable  thing  to  have 
about  one  ;  it  pricks  like  a  paper  of  pins  ;  it 
is  easily  knocked  over,  and  it  falls  like  lead, 
and  in  the  overturning  makes  a  noise  and 


OF   THE  HER  ME  TICS  43 

attracts  everybody's  attention.  A  haughty, 
self-respecting  person  is  ever  sensitive  lest 
his  pride  shall  be  hurt,  and  challenges  the 
world  with  his  satisfied  gaze  ;  which  world, 
proceeds  immediately  upon  the  challenge  to 
knock  him  down. 

It  is  not  in  the  least  strange  that  the 
young  Philosopher  is  proud,  because  an  in- 
creased sense  of  power  makes  one  superior, 
and  being  strong,  he  takes  delight  in  mani- 
festing this  consciousness.  There  are  two 
reasons  for  this ;  one  is  that  he  sees  the 
littleness  of  his  fellow-man  as  he  never  did 
before  (this  is  right),  and  the  other  reason  is 
that  he  is  not  yet  himself  sufficiently  in 
love  with  the  object  of  his  pursuit  (say 
truth)  to  rise  above  this  enervating  con- 
sciousness of  self  (this  is  wrong).  We 
find  ourselves  only  in  something  outside, 
never  in  dwelling  on  self  emotionally.  To 
dwell  on  self  in  this  way  is  to  sap  your  own 
life.  This  has  nothing  to  do  with  self-con- 
templation intellectually,  which  is  desir- 
able. We  prohibit  emotional  self-contem- 
plation only. 


44  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 

Pride  is  an  emotion,  a  feeling ;  self-respect 
explains  itself  in  its  name.  It  is  a  warming 
up  of  self  to  self,  an  admiration  of  self  for 
self,  a  gloating  over,  a  feeding  upon  self. 
This  is  one  of  the  greatest  evils. 

When  the  young  man  came  to  Christ  and 
informed  him  in  a  self-complacent  way,  that 
he  had  kept  all  the  Commandments  from 
his  youth  up,  the  Master  requested  him  to 
sell  all  that  he  had  and  follow  him  ;  mean- 
ing, that  in  pursuit  of  the  Ideal  he  should 
forget  his  own  goodness. 

Do  not  mistake  us.  Your  final  object  is 
to  find  yourself,  but  you  never  can  do  it  by 
self-admiration.  As  you  never  have  seen 
your  own  face  except  in  a  mirror,  you  never 
can  behold  yourself  except  in  another. 
When  you  gaze  into  the  eyes  of  a  friend  you 
find  a  little  image  of  yourself  imbedded 
there.  To  find  the  beauty  of  the  subject, 
you  must  gaze  at  the  object. 

Pore  over  self,  look  into  self,  analyze  self, 
dissect  self;  but  never  shed  one  tear  upon 
the  soil  of  your  own  soul;  if  you  do,  some- 
thing rank  and  poisonous  will  grow  with 


OF  THE  HER  ME  TICS  45 

roots  so  deep,  that  it  will  take  your  whole 
Unit  of  Force  to  pull  it  out. 

The  true  Philosopher  does  not  carry  his 
pride  with  him  long.  Before  he  enters  the 
narrow  path  he  is  stripped  naked  and  his 
pride  falls  first.  He  is  allowed  nothing 
heavy  about  him,  and  pride  is  heavy;  he 
has  to  run,  for  he  is  after  something  which 
eludes  and  evades  him.  His  eye  must  be 
steadily  fixed  on  the  object  or  it  will  escape 
him ;  and  self-respect  would  be  a  fatal  encum- 
brance. He  becomes  so  in  earnest  in  view- 
ing himself  in  the  thing  that  he  is  after 
that  he  forgets  himself  altogether;  this 
proves  that  one  who  would  save  his  life  must 
lose  it  in  the  life  of  another. 

The  first  sorrow  that  comes  to  the  young 
Philosopher  is  the  fall  of  his  pride;  when  it 
has  been  broken  he  becomes  a  servant ;  and 
that  to  the  very  ones  upon  whom  he  for- 
merly looked  down.  "  He  that  is  first  shall 
be  last."  He  stoops  to  conquer,  and  when 
he  again  holds  up  his  head,  it  is  for  the  pur- 
pose of  seeing  better,  rather  than  that  of 
looking  over  the  hats  of  people. 


46  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 

The  object  of  this  Philosophy  is  to  gain 
Power;  not  that  we  may  come  down  on 
others  with  crushing  blows,  but  that  we  may 
give  them  a  lift  upward.  You  might  stiffen 
your  back  till  you  walked  like  a  heathen 
king,  but  as  your  strut  becomes  intensified 
your  line  of  equipoise  might  be  overlooked 
and  your  next  position  would  be  that  of  a 
fool  in  the  dirt. 

Save  your  energy  for  the  race;  you  are 
supposed  to  be  after  something  and  very 
much  in  earnest.  Other  people  will  see 
you  running  and  possibly  they  will  start  in 
too,  just  for  the  running's  sake,  and  later 
on  they  may  find  an  object  to  chase. 

If  you  have  a  vestige  of  pride  left,  if  your 
self-respect  still  lingers;  if  your  self-love 
whimpers  and  whines,  get  rid  of  them  all. 
They  will  block  your  way  where  ever  you 
turn;  and  as  long  as  you  harbor  these 
vices  you  will  get  no  where.  Your  haughty 
looks  will  set  others  to  laughing;  and  you 
will  freeze  yourself.  Before  you  go  farther 
strangle  your  pride,  lest  it  get  too  heavy  for 
you  and  throw  you  down. 


OF   THE  HERMETICS  47 


WHO  ARE  OUR  CRANKS? 

What  are  cranks  ?  Who  are  they  ?  These 
questions  are  easily  answered.  First  let  me 
say,  that  there  are  all  degrees  of  cranks, 
from  absolute  to  comparative ;  that  they 
range  from  a  fool  to  a  knave  and  from  a  king 
down  to  a  peasant.  Let  me  add  also,  that 
they  are  dangerous  every  one  of  them,  from 
the  highest  to  the  lowest.  A  crank  is  an 
unbalanced  person;  by  this  we  do  not  mean 
insane,  but  one  whose  consciousness  is 
clouded;  he  wears  a  veil  and  does  not  see 
straight ;  he  is  cross  eyed  and  intrinsically 
evil. 

A  person  may  be  ignorant  and  not  be  a 
crank  ;  he  may  see  but  a  short  distance  but 
his  vision  will  be  correct  as  far  as  it  goes . 
He  will  not  have  a  mountain-top  sweep,  but 
he  can  make  out  a  horse  or  a  dog  as  truly 


48  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 

as  could  Lord  Bacon.     Ignorance  and  short- 
sightedness do  not  mean  crankism. 

A  crank  has  crooked  sight ;  no  matter 
what  he  sees  nor  how  far,  everything  is  out 
of  gear,  distorted.  To  be  seen  properly  even 
a  small  thing  should  be  consistent  with 
itself  and  to  the  one  who  sees.  A  crank's 
vision  is  out  of  focus;  not  only  his  physical 
vision,  but  his  mental  and  psychical  vision 
as  well. 

The  mass  of  humanity  have  a  vast  deal  of 
common  sense.  Selfishness  develops  this 
very  early.  The  great  body  of  mankind 
adjust  themselves  to  their  environment 
without  knowing  why.  They  avoid  spectacles 
and  steer  clear  of  oculists.  They  have  a 
sort  of  horse  understanding  which  enables 
them  to  find  a  stable  and  fodder.  Selfish- 
ness is  the  cause  of  this,  but  it  is  a  proper 
selfishness  and  of  a  different  kind  from  that 
of  the  crank. 

If  the  crank  is  not  born  an  Egoist  he  very 
soon  becomes  one,  for  it  is  almost  invariably 
the  love  of  notoriety  that  leads  him  into 
eccentricities.  He  longs  for  some  sort  of 


OF  THE  HERMETICS  49 

fame,  any  sort.  The  idea  of  the  love  of 
truth  for  itself  has  never  entered  his 
head.  His  first  ambition  is  to  be  looked  up 
to.  He  begins  by  becoming  odd,  and  thus 
attracts  notice.  There  is  so  much  of  the 
fakir  about  him,  that  he  grows  more  eccen- 
tric as  people  stare.  If  he  gets  a  following, 
he  begins  to  believe  in  himself  and  finally 
concludes  that  he  is  inspired ;  having  no 
balance,  but  only  love  of  fame,  he  does  more 
and  more  absurd  things  until  the  world 
hisses  him  down. 

His  disciples  become  contaminated  with 
his  unholy  magnetism,  and  become  lesser 
cranks  themselves,  rushing  with  their 
erratic  Master  to  destruction. 

There  are  religious,  scientific,  artistic, 
scholastic,  dogmatic  cranks  ;  cranks  of  both 
sexes;  cranks  among  the  rich  and  the  poor. 
They  run  after  all  sorts  of  absurdities  which 
have  no  basis  of  reason.  They  like  conceal- 
ment and  mystery;  they  hate  the  light  of 
the  sun  and  sense.  Alas  !  a  vast  proportion 
are  women,  whose  little  minds  dabble  right 
and  left  in  mysterious  cults,  that  they  may 


50  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 


have  hobbies  and  fads.  They  bring  greater 
cranks  to  their  drawing  rooms  to  lecture 
them  on  X  plus  nothing,  and  that  they  may 
drink  in  words  as  a  toper  swallows  rum. 
They  ask  no  questions  other  than,  "  Is  it 
new?"  "Is  it  strange?  "  They  never  once 
inquire  uOn  what  is  it  based?"  "Is  it 
sound?  "  They  abhor  logic,  evidence  and 
facts ;  they  adore  theories,  dreams  and  asser 
tions.  They  love  one  who  will  state  to  them 
something  in  positive  tones  with  divine 
authority.  They  delight  in  being  hypno- 
tized by  fools  more  foolish  than  themselves. 
They  glory  in  the  Kingdom  of  Fooldom  and 
long  to  dwell  there  forever. 

Talk  to  them  in  plain  Saxon,  and  they 
accuse  you  of  being  rough;  present  them  a 
syllogism  and  they  dub  you  as  dry;  preach 
to  them  plain  facts,  and  they  call  you  com- 
mon ;  give  them  experience  and  they  banish 
you  at  once.  They  desire  and  promulgate 
hypotheses  and  theories;  they  stand  with 
each  foot  on  an  assertion  and  shake  their 
fists  at  reason. 

You  will  find  the  crank  on  nearly  every 


OF   THE  HERMETICS  51 

street  of  every  city  in  America,  to  say  noth- 
ing of  Europe  and  the  Holy  East.  But  the 
Arch  Crank  is  rarer;  and  like  the  Chief 
Devil  is  slippery  and  evasive.  He  is  around 
though,  and  he  has  one  quality  that  the 
ordinary  crank  has  not — wickedness;  his 
very  crankiness  is  abnormal  self-interest 
and  sin.  Beware  of  the  others,  but  very 
much  of  him  ;  he  is  horned  and  hoofed  and 
clawed.  He  can  hurt  you  with  his  head  or 
his  feet  or  his  hands,  even  with  his  eyes. 
In  fact,  His  Majesty  the  Prince  of  Evil,  is 
a  crank,  if  crookedness  means  anything. 

You  ask  anxiously,  "How  shall  we  recog- 
nize those  who  are  truly  clairvoyant  and 
honest  ?  "  By  one  simple  rule — a  common 
sense  seeker  after  synthetic  truth  for  truth's 
sake  is  never  a  crank.  If  he  is  in  earnest, 
fame  and  notoriety  are  side  issues.  He  is  so 
serious  that  he  forgets  to  pose;  he  is  not  sit- 
ting for  his  photograph,  he  is  engaged  in 
living.  Life  is  his  object,  not  position;  he 
may  appear  cranky  at  times,  and  exceed- 
ingly absurd,  but  his  motive,  if  he  let  you 
see  it,  will  clear  his  name.  The  would-be 


52  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 


Sage  often  seems  like  a  fool,  but  to  look  the 
crank  and  to  be  one,  are  vastly  different. 

"  Are  there  no  honest  cranks?  "  you  ask. 
Yes,  a  few.  They  are  the  great  specialists, 
who  have  scarcely  any  power  of  generaliza- 
tion; they  accomplish  something  in  one 
particular  line,  but  their  vision  is  narrow  ; 
they  see  straight  ahead,  but  they  cannot  look 
out  at  the  sides.  They  have  a  defect  of  vis- 
ion which  the  doctors  find  hard  to  cure. 

The  all-round  Sage  has  eyes  peering  to 
all  points  of  the  compass.  Try  to  "evolute  " 
eyes  ;  the  more  eyes  you  have,  the  less  of  a 
crank  you  will  be. 


OF  THE  HER  ME  TICS  53 


ONE   DAY. 

In  the  dark  we  dream  of  the  dawn  and 
youth  —  divine  youth  —  starry-eyed.  We 
pray  for  the  morning — and  the  flash — a  sky 
warm  with  the  bud  of  passion — a  form  soft- 
limbed  and  strong.  It  comes — We  have 
prayed.  It  comes — morning — youth. 

We  stand  somewhere  on  a  high  place,  and 
thrill  with  our  blood — and  the  sunrise. 
The  bud  steals  up  on  the  sky  like  the 
promise  of  a  fiery  rose — the  blood  mounts 
to  our  cheeks  like  a  prophesy  of  creation. 
But  it  is  opening — the  great  flower.  The  sky 
quivers  with  red  rapture — youth  is  fulfilled 
— passion  is  rising — our  soul  is  on  fire. 

Alas !  We  stare  at  the  sun  and  he  puts 
out  our  eyes — the  new  sun — the  young  sun 
— he  stabs  us  with  needles  of  light  till 
pleasure  is  pain.  And  our  passion — the 


54  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 


flower  of  our  youth. — pierces  us  through  and 
through  till  ecstacy  weeps. 

Alas!  We  long  for  the  noon — the 
climax — the  zenith.  We  go  in  the  dark 
and  wait. 

Up  the  high  path  of  the  sky  the  sun 
triumphantly  marches — and  we  wait  in  the 
dark.  The  noon  of  our  life — the  climax — 
the  zenith — when  glitters  the  mind  like 
steel  in  the  battle — when  the  heart  beats 
time  to  the  fight — when  our  muscles  are 
hard  like  a  rock — our  nerves  tense  like  the 
string  of  a  bow. 

Alas !  We  uncover  our  heads  and  go 
out  at  the  stroke  of  the  clock — High  noon 
when  the  mass  is  said  and  the  aged  die — 
And  we  stare,  but  the  sun  more  cruel  than 
fate  pierces  us  through  with  its  darts.  We 
are  blind — struck  by  the  light. 

Alas !  Our  blood  had  grown  rich — we 
were  ripe — our  muscles  and  nerves  were 
tense — our  heart  beat  time  to  the  march  of 
our  feet — We  lifted  our  arm,  our  strong 
right  arm,  and  hurled  the  lance — It  was 
noon — it  struck  at  the  sun  in  the  zenith 


OF  THE  HERMETICS  55 

above,  and  backward  it  flew  to  our  heart — 
straight  to  our  heart.  The  rose  of  our 
passion  was  dead — killed  by  our  strong 
right  arm. 

We  go  in  the  dark  and  pray — pray  for  the 
eve  and  the  setting  sun — for  the  splendors 
that  usher  in  night,  when  the  stars  of  hope 
come  out.  We  pray  for  the  calm  of  our 
poisoned  blood — for  the  cool  of  the  slow 
heart  beat — for  the  quiet  of  sleep — for 
comforting  dreams. 

Alas !  the  sun  goes  down  and  we  stare 
in  its  face — but  our  eyes  are  gone — eaten 
by  worms — the  worm  of  age.  And  we  fall 
to  the  ground  for  our  limbs  are  weak — 
they  shake  with  years.  And  we  look  within 
but  we  cannot  see,  for  our  blood  is  cold  and 
thick — our  heart  is  ice,  and  beats  with  a 
noise  like  the  cracking  of  snow. 

Alas!  Alas!!  But  wait !!!  The  GODS 
do  face  the  sun.  BE  GODS. 


56  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 


SECRET  GRIEF. 

You  will  understand  it,  and  how  impossi- 
ble it  is  to  seek  sympathy  anywhere.  You 
would  go  to  the  rack  ere  you  would  tell  it ; 
torture  could  never  force  it  from  you.  You 
hide  it  and  hide  it  deeper  and  deeper  for  fear 
some  far-reaching  eye  will  pierce  to  the 
secret.  It  is  yours,  emphatically  yours. 
Your  closest  friend  never  suspects  it,  or  if 
he  does  he  cannot  divine  it.  Shame  would 
paint  your  face  redder  than  roses  if  it  were 
dreamed  of;  not  the  shame  of  guilt,  but  the 
shame  of  shyness.  You  know  that  no  mor- 
tal can  comprehend  it,  no  mortal  but  you  ; 
even  God  must  be  puzzled  about  it  you  are 
sure.  It  is  utterly  inexplicable,  and  simply 
is  as  life  is.  It  is  something  so  foreign  to 
what  you  would  tolerate  in  another,  that 
you  wonder  that  you  nurse  it  in  yourself. 


OF    THE  HERMETICS  57 


It  is  altogether  out  of  the  Conventional,  and 
has  a  close  kinship  to  Mother  Nature  un- 
painted  and  unpowdered  by  the  hand  of 
Civilization. 

It  is  an  enigma,  and  yet  you  comprehend  it 
in  a  way  and  feel  that  it  is  the  key  to  your- 
self. Could  you  discover  the  meaning  of  it, 
you  would  know  who  you  are,  what  you  have 
been,  and  will  be.  Your  Secret  Grief  is 
sacred;  it  dwells  in  your  innermost  heart 
where  no  other  may  enter.  It  puts  your 
character  in  a  strange  light — the  after-glow 
of  a  long  gone  past  floods  it,  and  the  dawn 
of  tomorrow  gilds  its  edge.  It  is  not  so 
much  something  that  you  have  done,  as  a 
something  that  you  have  felt  and  still  feel; 
a  something  that  Society  says  you  shall  not 
feel ;  that  man  prohibits.  As  if  Society  and 
man  could  stop  the  natural  beat  of  the  heart, 
and  escape  the  brand  of  Cain. 

It  may  be  a  secret  love  which  the  very 
secrecy  sanctifies.  It  may  be  a  secret  hate, 
which  God  suffers.  It  may  be  an  unful- 
filled aspiration  at  which  the  world  would 
laugh.  It  may  be  a  memory  upon  which 


58  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 


Priests  frown  and  God  smiles.  It  may  be  a 
regret  which  grows  like  a  tropic  palm,  be- 
cause of  yonr  scalding  tears.  Whatever  it 
is,  it  is  not  as  man  would  have  it,  and  you 
are  satisfied.  You  wander  in  the  wilderness 
with  your  Ishinael  and  no  one  sees.  It  is 
your  sacred  property,  the  text  of  your  scrip- 
ture. It  is  the  unnatural  child,  dearer  to 
the  mother  than  the  one  born  in  wed-lock. 
It  is  the  wild  flower,  sweeter  in  scent  than 
the  garden  rose.  It  is  the  crystal  spring, 
hid  in  the  height  of  inaccessible  mountains. 
It  is  the  ocean  depth  which  the  plumb  line 
misses.  It  is  the  star  out  of  sight  which 
pulls  on  the  planets.  Stop  a  moment ! 
Think !  Now  do  you  know?  Do  you 
understand. 

There  are  open  secrets,  honorable  sor- 
rows, respectable  griefs  where  mourners 
stand  about,  and  sympathizers  swarm.  There 
is  priceless  crepe,  there  are  flowers  and  cof- 
fins satin-lined.  The  minister  condoles  and 
prays,  and  angels  stop  their  ears.  There 
are  donated  years  when  sorrows  sit  down  in 
the  house,  well  dressed  in  black;  when  com- 


OF  THE  HERMETICS  59 

forters  come  and  go,  in  black;  when  light 
steals  into  the  eyes  through  black — respect- 
able black — and  the  clock  calculates  the  time 
for  the  wearing  of  black — and  the  seasons 
are  ravens  in  black. 

But  one  with  the  Secret  Grief  steals  up  to 
his  room  alone  and  looks  out  in  the  dark  on 
the  sky,  and  catching  a  glimpse  of  the  moon 
he  melts  her  with  his  eyes.  The  moon  of  flint 
floats  in  the  mist — the  mist  of  his  eyes. 
He  locks  the  door  and  bids  his  Secret  Grief 
come  forth.  Her  face  chiseled  by  Destiny 
defiantly  meets  his  own.  She  kisses  him. 
Her  form,  hewn  by  the  Fates,  enfolds  him. 
Her  hair,  shaded  from  dark  to  light  by  the 
ages,  entangles  him.  Her  Karmic  eyes  meet 
his  and  absorb  them.  Her  teeth,  hardened  by 
time,  bite  with  their  passion  his  tender  flesh. 
He  writhes  and  quivers  in  throes  of  delicious 
despair.  He  loves  her,  and  the  more  lie 
loves  the  more  she  tortures.  She  melts  into 
him  and  is  lost  again — deep — deep  in  his 
heart. 

Then,  calmly  and  unflinchingly  he  carries 
her  about  in  the  mart  of  trade,  to  church 


60  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 

even  to  his  own  fire-side.  He  talks  with 
friends;  they  know  not.  He  smiles  in 
women's  eyes  and  they  smile  back.  He 
dances,  eats  and  laughs.  He  earns  gold  and 
spends.  He  studies  and  invents.  He  dies. 
And  when  they  try  to  bury  him,  something 
weighs  the  coffin  down — the  bearers  stagger. 
The  Grief  is  there — 'tis  like  a  stone.  He 
left  it  when  he  died. 


OF    THE  HERMETICS  61 


COLD   DESPAIR. 

A  feeling  of  despair  once  felt,  is  ever 
afterward  appearing  in  memory,  somewhat 
as  a  death  escaped  comes  back  torturing 
like  a  phantom  fiend.  Very  few  on  earth 
have  drank  the  cup  to  the  dregs.  To  drain 
the  cup,  is  reserved  for  the  elect. 

Sorrow  has  touched  you,  and  you  call  it 
despair.  Agony  has  passed  before  you,  and 
you  name  it  despair.  Pain  has  vanquished 
you,  and  you  have  imagined  despair; 
but  the  horrid  thing,  the  never-forgotten 
thing,  comes  rarely.  As  long  as  Hope 
casts  a  single  ray,  despair  is  not,  for  the 
creature  glows  with  its  own  light — the  lurid, 
sulphuric,  blue  glitter  of  hell. 

Hope  shrouds  one  in  white  mist  through 
which  the  eyes  cannot  penetrate.  Where 
Hope  is,  all  is  white  mist — the  fog  of 


62  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 

illusion.  But  despair  crawls  on  its  belly, 
and  lights  up  the  night  with  the  shine 
of  its  scales — phosphorescent  like  fire-flies. 
There  are  things  that  are  light  and  cold. 
Despair  is  light  and  cold — colder  than  ice — 
colder  than  space — colder  than  the  dead. 
To  feel  its  touch,  checks  the  flow  of  your 
blood,  and  neither  the  fire  nor  the  sun  can 
warm  you.  You  shrink  back  and  back  into 
yourself,  farther,  farther  back  in  search  of  heat 
— of  the  white  heat  of  life.  But  the  furnace 
is  cold,  the  fire  smoulders.  Despair  waits 
his  chance.  He  bides  his  time.  He  catches 
Hope  napping,  and  he  freezes  her ;  and  then, 
he  seizes  you  with  his  eyes.  If  Hope  is  not 
frozen  stiff,  if  she  be  not  stark  and  dead,  she 
will  arouse  and  veil  your  face  and  Despair 
will  wander  off ;  but  Memory,  like  his  slimy 
trail,  will  stay. 

What  can  you  do,  what  will  you  do  if  he 
appear  ? 

"Fore  warned,  fore  armed. " 

Despair  and  Hope  are  twins,  born  from 
the  same  womb  at  the  same  hour.  The 
secret  sympathy  between  the  two,  you  can 


OF    THE  HERM ETICS  63 


not  fail  to  feel.  Where  one  is,  there  the 
other  dwells.  Though  Hope  shrouds  you 
in  her  veil  until  Despair  is  not,  beware !  for 
this  illusion  veil — this  maze  of  tint  and 
light — this  many  colored  rainbow  shroud — 
this  cloud  of  bubbles  and  dew — this  irides- 
cent lace  entwined  with  opals,  amethysts 
and  pearls — this  dainty  dream  of  splendor 
dazzling  while  it  soothes,  is  but  the  burial 
shroud  of  truth.  It  is  the  mist  upon  the 
microscopic  lens.  It  is  the  mote  within  the 
telescopic  eye.  It  is  the  mask  upon  a 
woman's  face.  It  is  the  fool's  cap  on  the 
Sage's  head. 

In  flying  from  Despair  you  leave  fair 
Hope  behind.  Fair  Hope  !  The  aphrodite 
of  your  dreams — the  golden-haired — the 
amber-eyed.  Fair  Hope !  who  points  to 
something  yet  unseen — who  smiles  on  some- 
thing yet  unknown. 

Truth  will  have  none  of  her,  for  like  a 
harlot,  she  conceals  within  her  ample  skirts 
her  brother — Cold  Despair.  She  hides  him 
mid  the  draperies  and  dances  madly  in  the 
sun — her  partner  hugged  close  to  her 


64  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 

breast — but  when  she  tires  and  falls  upon 
the  ground  asleep,  sometimes  alas  !  some- 
times the  dew  trailed  mystery  of  her  robe  is 
rent,  and  from  her  very  vitals  does  her 
awful  mate  come  forth.  Sometimes — but 
you  who  never  dance  with  Hope,  see  him 
not.  Sorrow,  agony  and  pain  have  been 
your  guests,  but  Cold  Despair  is  yet  to  come. 
Beware !  beware  of  Hope,  and  seek  ye 
wisdom.  Truth  neither  hopes  nor  fears  ; 
she  understands.  What  she  sees  is  essence, 
more  glittering  than  illusion  in  the  glare  of 
fire,  more  brilliant  than  all  the  suns  above, 
more  real  than  Karma,  more  enduring  than 
the  Fates.  And  on  the  door-post  of  her 
temple  there  is  writ  in  blood,  u  He  who 
enters  here,  leaves  Hope  behind." 


OF  THE  HER  ME  TICS  65 


BEAUTY— ART— POWER. 


What  is  it  you  desire,  Beauty?  What 
for  ?  Is  it  to  please  a  friend  ?  Is  it  to  win 
a  heart !  Is  it  to  gain  admiration,  flattery 
or  fame,  or  is  it  for  the  love  of  it  ? 

The  object  of  this  Philosophy  is  power. 
You  ask  for  Beauty  for  the  reason,  perhaps, 
that  you  love  it,  but  still  more  for  the  sake 
of  power.  Now  pay  close  attention.  The 
sense  of  Beauty  is  in  some  sense  the  most 
pleasing  of  all  the  abstractions  ;  for  it  is  a 
sense  and  an  abstraction.  Beauty  is  that 
certain  combination  of  things  that  appeals 
to  us  in  a  manner  to  fascinate.  In  this 
sense  it  is  rather  different  from  all  other 
abstractions.  The  abstraction  lies  in  the  law 
of  the  combination.  The  same  things  thrown 
together  in  some  other  way,  would  be  gov- 
erned by  another  abstraction  which  would  not 
be  that  of  Beauty. 

Suppose  you  desire  this  result,  Beauty,  in 


66  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 


order  to  please  a  friend,  or  to  win  a  heart. 
What  comes  ?  Beauty,  but  not  in  the  form 
which  appeals  to  the  heart  you  desire  to 
engage.  //  comes  to  you  as  you  ap- 
preciate, and  fails  to  do  the  work 
desired.  You  are  duped,  and  have 
missed  your  end.  The  love  of  Beauty 
not  being  the  ultimate,  but  the  love  of  the 
friend,  you  have  neither  a  reward  from  the 
abstraction  nor  the  desired  heart.  Alas ! 
desolation.  Your  premise  was  wrong.  To 
gain  power  from  Beauty  you  must  seek  it 
for  its  own  sake,  leaving  out  of  your  mind 
all  thought  of  what  it  will  do  with 
others,  and  filling  yourself  with  the 
idea  of  what  it  will  do  with  you.  Out  of 
this  goes  and  comes  Power.  Beauty  blesses 
you,  and  with  the  touch  of  the  tips  of  her 
fingers,  you  feel  the  magnetic  thrill.  Your 
magic  then  over  others  comes  not  from  your 
conception  of  Beauty,  nor  your  passion  for 
her,  but  from  the  added  power  which  your 
consciousness  of  her  bestows. 

Your   effect   upon   others   comes   always 
from  a  concealed  power;  and  a  love  of  Beauty 


OF   THE  HERMETICS  67 

for  itself,  aids  that  power.  Having  such  a 
devotion  to  the  abstraction,  you  find  it  mani- 
fests in  form  everywhere  and  always  con- 
gruous. Beauty  is  never  incongruous  ;  she 
combines  well  and  appropriately.  She  does 
not  adorn  her  sea-nymphs  in  muslin  ball 
dresses,  nor  her  belles  of  the  dance  in  a  bath- 
ing suit.  She  puts  the  right  thing  in  the 
right  place,  and  makes  it  fit  to  the  landscape 
and  environment. 

A  woman  devoted  to  the  beautiful  would 
endeavor  to  be  so  even  on  a  desert  where  no 
eye,  not  even  her  own,  could  behold  her. 
She  would  seek — all  things  being  equal — 
for  the  adored  one,  and  would  beg  her  com- 
pany. She  would  instinctively  adorn  her- 
self for  the  Beauty's  sake,  even  though 
her  conception  of  her  be  different  from 
all  others  ;  and  in  this  converse  with  the 
divine  abstraction — harmony  manifested  in 
the  Real — she  would  grow  strong. 

In  the  world  no  one  can  laugh  down  the 
Beauty  lover.  He  is  supremely  happy  in 
his  divine  association  and  smiles  back  on 
the  scorner  in  his  consciousness  of  power. 


68  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 


Do  you  desire  Art  ?  What  for — for  whom  ? 
If  for  another,  to  gain  by  it,  to  hold  another, 
your  quest  is  vain;  but  if  your  motto  is, 
"  Art  for  Art's  sake/'  pray  on.  Like  Beauty, 
Art  is  an  abstraction  growing  out  of  combi- 
nation. It  has  a  meaning,  subtle,  and  its 
own.  It  includesctf/zs^fe^cjxand  congruity. 
But  Beauty  is  not  necessarily  its  divine  con- 
sort. 

Art  brings  holy  satisfaction,  in  fact  a 
species  of  ecstacy;  but  the  rapture  is  differ- 
ent from  that  of  Beauty  or  Love.  There 
is  a  sense  of  the  dual  nature  of  Truth  about 
Art,  which  is  not  found  in  the  glamour  of 
Cupid.  In  the  trail  of  Art  is  a  stream  of 
blood — on  the  brow  of  Art  is  the  shadow  of 
hate — in  the  eyes  of  Art  is  the  lust  of  life. 

Art  like  a  white  star,  twinkles  in  all 
tints — fire  which  burns  heaven's  blue  and 
blackness.  Art  is  master  of  heaven  and 
hell — he  soars  to  the  zenith  and  dives  to 
the  center.  He  is  awful — he  is  sweet — he 
appeals  to  the  worst  and  the  best  in  you. 
He  is  a  God,  all-sided.  He  fires  you  with 
the  lust  of  a  fiend,  and  inspires  you  with 


• 

c 


OF  THE  HERMETICS  69 

the  love  of  an  angel.  He  tempts  you  to 
the  low,  and  beckons  you  to  the  high. 
Splendid !  magnificent !  he  stands  on  the 
rock-granite  foundation  of  earth,  and 
lizards  crawl  over  his  feet.  But  the  tower- 
ing head  rears  itself  into  the  cold  spaces 
where  feeling  is  lost  in  intellect  and  fear 
in  knowledge.  The  heat  of  the  planet's 
internal  fires  warm  him — the  cold  of  the 
sky's  chilling  ethers  freeze  him — Art  the 
terrible — Art  the  divine. 

Would  you  know  him,  touch  him — kneel 
at  his  feet  ?  Let  me  whisper  a  secret — only 
for  his  own  sake,  will  he  have  you — only 
for  his  own  sake — And  more,  while  you 
crawl  near  his  skirts  and  pick  flowers,  he 
is  likely  to  tread  on  your  form.  He  will 
think  you  a  worm.  Rise  up.  Stand  near, 
and  measure  stature  with  him.  Though 
he  towers  to  the  stars,  stand  near.  Dare 
thou  to  stand;  and  gazing  on  him  thou 
wilt  grow  taller — taller — elbow  to  elbow — 
shoulder  to  shoulder — taller — taller — neck 
to  neck — head  to  head — eyes  to  eyes. 

Power — Beauty — Art — Power  / 


70  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 


SPIRITS  AND   DEVILS. 


We  have  a  good  deal  to  say  on  this  sub- 
ject, and  what  we  do  not  put  into  words 
may  be  easily  read  between  the  lines.  In 
the  first  place,  to  go  spirit  hunting  is  bad 
business,  unless — here  we  make  a  dash — , 
for  there  are  conditions. 

If  you  have  the  scientific  mind,  which  is 
nothing  other  than  one  bent  on  knowing 
for  the  knowing's  sake ;  if  you  are  sure  of 
yourself,  you  may  search  after  ghosts. 
Anything  you  can  find  in  the  Universe  is 
a  good  thing,  if  it  comes  to  you  in  the  form 
of  a  hard  fact.  Do  not  congratulate 
yourself;  it  is  possible  that  you  have  not 
as  yet  evolved  the  scientific  mind. 

But  wait  a  moment,  there  is  another 
condition  ;  perhaps  you  have  lost  a  friend 
— one  very  much  loved ;  that  the  living 


OF  THE  HER  ME  TICS  71 

without  him  is  a  long  agony  ;  possibly  you 
have  not  gone  far  enough  in  philosophy  to 
understand  the  full  meaning  of  this,  so 
you  call  him  to  come  to  you — out  of  the 
darkness — out  of  the  unseen — if  only 
the  vapor  him — that  you  may  know  his 
breath  on  your  cheek — cold  like  the  wind 
of  winter,  but  his.  Have  you  the  right  to 
this — you  have. 

The  "  touch  of  the  vanished  hand  "  will 
set  you  singing  again ;  only — know  this, 
that  where  you  head,  there  is  danger.  In 
the  wet  where  the  lilies  grow,  the  devil  is 
hid ;  those  pale  ghost  lilies  spring  from  the 
slime  where  the  wallowing  snake  lies  low. 

In  the  seance  room,  His  Majesty  sits, 
where  the  horse-shoe  circle  divides.  He 
pays  no  money  and  laughs  in  his  scarlet 
sleeve  when  you  pay  yours.  Respectable 
ghosts  stay  away,  all  SPIRITS  except 
himself — all.  If  as  savant  you  seek  for  a 
ghost,  keep  clear  of  the  seance  room 
where  a  fee  is  paid.  And  more,  look  out 
for  the  unseen  guest  who  laughs  in  his 
scarlet  sleeve.  If  you  seek  for  the  loved 


72  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 

and    lost,  keep  clear  of  the  seance  room 
for  they  never  come  that  way. 

His  Majesty  cheats  you  again  in  the 
guise  and  form  of  a  bride  or  a  friend. 
Some  day  we  will  tell  you  how.  Satan 
goes  round  disguised  as  a  ghost,  and  devils 
both  great  and  small  emerge  from  the  cur- 
tained box — unseen  but  real. 


OF   THE  HER  ME  TICS  73 


DEATH— WHAT  OF  IT? 


"If  I  should  die/'  you  say,  "If  I  should 
die  just  at  the  moment  when  I  have  learned 
to  live,  what,  good?  Philosophy  is  for  life, 
life — but  death!  What  has  the  frozen 
corpse,  embalmed,  shrouded,  boxed,  to  do 
with  truth  ?  The  charnel-house  is  a  dreary 
place ;  the  grave  is  foul ;  even  the  mauso- 
leum, touched  up  with  gold,  is  a  lonesome 
spot.  "  If  I  should  die— what  then  ?  " 

Philosophy  is  for  life,  we  still  reiterate, 
for  life;  nor  do  we  deny  that  death  is  stalk- 
ing up  and  down  the  world  to  meet  even  you 
— you.  Some  day  the  wind  will  blow — 
colder  than  ever  before — it  will  lay  you  low, 
and  transform  you  into  a  fallen  statue.  The 
breath  of  Death !  more  chill  than  the  winds 
of  the  Arctic — Death !  He  has  a  twin 


74  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 

brother — sleep — a  zephyr  of  him,  yet  bleak. 
He  lowers  your  pulse  and  lays  you  down  and 
closes  your  eyes. 

Where  does  Truth  sit  while  you  sleep  ? 
Have  you  watched  the  sea  when  the  tide  is 
low — have  you  heard  it  sigh  in  its  dreams? 

You  sleep,  and  the  tide  of  your  life  goes 
down — down  to  the  ebb — and  you  sigh  in 
your  dreams  ;  but  Truth  never  closes  her 
eyes ;  she  watches  through  night  and  day 
—and  she  smiles  when  you  sigh — when  the 
sea  sighs. 

When  you  die  you  will  grow  so  cold  that 
you  will  forget  to  breathe — your  brain  will 
be  frozen  hard — your  lungs  will  turn  to  ice 
—you  will  even  forget  to  think — to  love. 
But  wait !  Philosophy,  garbed  in  the  robes 
of  Truth  will  watch  the  tomb  for  three  long 
days,  till  the  butterfly  breaks  the  cocoon ; 
till  the  seed  bursts  open  its  husk;  till  the 
chick  is  hatched  from  the  egg;  till  the  tide 
begins  to  rise;  till  the  stone  is  rolled  away 
and  the  Christ  comes  forth. 

Remember  that  death  is  the  soil  of  life 


OF   THE  HERMETICS  75 

and  life  is  the  despair  of  death.  Remember 
you  enter  the  womb  to  come  out;  you  come 
out  to  return  again.  What  manner  of  man 
goeth  in,  cometh  out;  what  manner  of  man 
cometh  out,  Philosophy  knows.  She  meets 
her  own  at  the  gate  of  birth,  and  walks  by 
his  side  to  the  gate  of  death.  Three  days 
in  the  tomb — three  days. 

When  you  wake  from  sleep,  you  take  up 
the  thread  and  weave  it  into  the  warp  where 
it  dropped  the  night  before;  if  you  find  it 
knotted — Alas  !  you  left  it  so.  When  you 
wake  from  the  ebb-tide  of  death  and  open 
your  eyes  in  the  realms  of  self,  you  pick  up 
your  thread  and  weave  again  where  you 
ceased  to  weave  the  night  before.  If  knotted 
—  Alas!  you  left  it  so. 

O  loved  ones  do  you  not  see  that  the  silken 
cord  never  breaks  ;  you  pick  it  up,  now  here, 
now  there,  and  you  spin,  and  spin,  and  spin, 
like  the  sisters  of  fate.  Yoii  spin  as  the 
spider  spins,  and  fasten  yourself  to  the  web. 
You  spin  with  the  silver  cord,  as  fine  as  a 
silken  hair,  as  strong  as  the  fiber  of  life. 


76  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 

The  fabric  you  weave  hangs  high  twixt  this 
and  the  other  world.  'Tis  a  veil  of  gossa- 
mer stuff,  perfect  on  either  side.  You  look 
through  its  meshes  without — you  look 
through  its  meshes  within — now  standing 
in  front  in  the  cold — now  standing  behind 
in  the  heat.  'Tis  an  endless  veil — and  you 
spin,  and  spin,  and  spin— but  what  do  you 
spin? 

The  genius  seeks  his  muse  and  kneels  at 
her  feet — "  O  muse!    One  look  from  thee— 
that  I  may  know  eternity." 

You  who  die,  remember  Philosophy— 
your  muse!  She  closes  your  eyelids  in  sleep, 
and  sits  at  your  side  the  long  night  through. 
Dawn  comes  in,  you  open  your  eyes,  your 
questioning  looks  melt  into  hers.  She  has 
watched  through  the  night  with  steady  gaze. 
She  saw  the  stars  come  up  and  the  moon 
dip  into  the  sea.  Her  glance  swept  the 
spaces  and  comprehended  the  drama  of 
earth.  She  saw  Love's  rhapsody  and  Hate's 
gore.  She  beheld  sorrow,  weeping  and  pain 
writhing.  She  watched  the  Mother  in  the 
pangs  of  child-birth  and  the  sufferer  on  his 


OF   THE  HER  ME  TICS  77 

bed  of  death.  All  this  time  you  breathed 
softly — your  pulse  was  low — you  slept. 

When  death  touches  you  and  the  wind 
blows  cold,  your  muse  stands  firm. 
She  wraps  you  in  her  cloak  and  lays  you 
out.  She  braces  herself  against  death  as  a 
single  will  defies  the  universe.  She  faces 
the  Arctic  winds.  She  sets  her  teeth,  and 
for  three  days  challenges  hell.  Out  upon 
her  leap  the  devils  of  Inferno.  She  stands 
fast.  Calmly  you  sleep  on — as  calmly  as 
the  plant  sleeps  under  the  snow. 

Your  muse  calls  heaven  to  help  her — the 
saints — the  cherubs — the  seraphs — the  an- 
gels— the  arch-angels — God.  She  dares 
with  her  eyes  the  terrible  glitter  of  the  dog 
star.  She  shifts  her  gaze  to  the  awful  flash 
of  Arcturus.  She  appeals  to  the  majesty 
of  Orion.  She  draws  on  the  fires  of  the 
Pleiades.  She  summons  the  combined  forces 
of  Hercules.  She  faces  all  heaven.  Her 
soul  drinks  at  the  firmament — and  you 
sleep  on. 

When  the  Sage  of  Athens  drank  the  hem- 
lock his  muse  shuddered,  but  stood  firm. 


78  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 

When  the  heart  of  Christ  broke,  his  muse 
wept,  but  lived  on.  When  death  meets  you, 
your  muse  will  conquer  hell,  and  face  the 
eternal  fires.  Fear  not. 


OF   THE  HER  ME  TICS  79 


NATURE'S  JEST. 

Our  whimsical  old  Mother  Nature  is  ap- 
parently a  great  jester.  So  it  would  seem 
from  the  expression  of  her  face,  but  beware! 
She  may  be  more  in  earnest  than  you 
imagine. 

Madame  Beauty  stands  before  her  mirror 
and  weeps  bitter  tears  as  she  drapes  herself 
in  rags,  but  Poverty,  off  in  the  corner, 
laughs  and  laughs.  It  is  a  pitiful  picture, 
but  not  to  Poverty,  who  laughs  and  laughs. 
Beauty  might  pose  for  Venus  naked — but 
now  !  Ha  !  Ha  !  How  Poverty  laughs  ! 
There  stands  the  idol  of  men  in  the  sun- 
light, with  hair  that  wreathes  her  round  and 
round — magic  hair  !  so  electric  that  a  glint 
of  fire  is  in  it — perfumed  hair  !  Nature's 
own  aroma  ! 

But  where  is  the  jeweled  barb  with  which 


8o  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 

to  fasten  it  ?  Beauty  is  too  poor  !  and  her 
eyes!  Tears  make  them  brighter  as  dew 
freshens  the  roses!  Her  white  breast  is  but 
half  covered — Alas!  the  rags  are  rent  where 
the  skin  is  softest,  where  the  cold  strikes 
coldest. 

Poor  Beauty!  She  is  honest— no  daub 
of  rouge,  nor  puff  of  powder,  nor  roue's  kiss 
has  touched  her,  only  the  wind  nipping  at 
her  ears,  and  her  shoulders  and  her  pink 
finger-tips.  Her  tears  freeze  in  her  dimples, 
she  has  forgotten  to  smile,  but  Poverty 
laughs — laughs  till  the  wind  is  lost  in  her 
voice — laughs  till  the  sound  of  the  church 
bell  is  drowned — laughs  till  the  city's  roar 
is  faint — and  Beauty  stares  in  her  bit  of 
glass,  which  is  lit  with  the  flash  of  her  eyes. 

Is  Nature  playing  a  joke,  or  is  she  adjust- 
ing the  scales  ? 

Madame  Ugliness  sparkles  with  gems. 
They  shine  in  her  ears — gross  ears  that 
gather  scandals  and  lies,  as  the  pitcher  plant 
gobbles  the  flies — they  shine  round  her  neck, 
gaunt  like  the  arm  of  a  sycamore  tree- 
wrinkled  and  old — they  shine  in  her  hair 


OF  THE  HERMETICS  8l 

where  it  clings  to  her  head,  as  moss  in 
patches  sticks  to  a  stone.  They  shine  on 
her  fingers,  kitotted  like  claws  and  destined 
to  scratch — scratch.  She  is  swathed  in  satin 
and  silk  as  a  mummy  is  swathed;  bound  and 
banded  and  draped  till  her  cracking  bones, 
and  her  shrunken  flesh  and  her  bosomless 
chest  are  rigid  and  stiff. 

She  fears  to  gaze  in  the  glittering  lake, 
she  dreads  the  mirror  and  shining  pool,  she 
shuns  reflecting  eyes.  Wealth  stands  by 
and  sneers — wealth,  her  consort,  secretly 
sneers  and  jingles  his  money-bags.  She  is 
so  ugly  he  covers  her  up  with  things  of 
beauty,  and  sneers;  he  piles  on  more  and 
more  and  sneers  and  sneers. 

But  what  of  Nature — the  Wise?  Does 
she  jest  when  she  brings  forth  Beauty  and 
sends  her  adrift  with  rags  on  her  back, 
while  hugging  Ugliness  close  to  her  breast 
where  the  rich  milk  flows  ? 

Ah!  Beauty!  thy  rags  but  emphasize 
thee — the  white  of  thine  arms,  the  pose  of 
thy  limbs.  Thine  hair  is  thy  robe.  The 
sun  is  thy  love.  Thou  holdest  thy  glass. 


82  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 

But  Ugliness — thou?  Can  Nature  bal- 
ance the  scale  where  beauty  is  weighed  ? 
She  loads  on  the  silks,  the  satins,  the  furs ; 
she  heaps  on  the  rubies  and  gold,  she  piles 
in  the  diamonds,  the  emeralds,  the  pearls, 
and  yet,  even  yet,  Beauty  is  heavy,  gold  is  a, 
feather,  the  jewels  a  speck.  And  Nature,  de- 
spairing, goes  down  to  the  sea,  she  dives  for 
more  jewels,  and  more,  she  digs  into  earth 
and  brings  up  more  treasure  and  more.  She 
slaughters  the  beast  and  the  bird,  she  tears 
off  the  hide  and  the  plume,  but  Ugliness 
crouches,  light  as  the  skin  of  a  fish,  while 
Beauty  outbalances  all. 

Ah  !  Nature  !  you  jest,  unless  time  and 
causes  long  gone  can  be  caught  to  weigh 
down  things  as  they  seem. 


OF   THE  HERMETICS  83 


YOUR  FRIEND. 

Is  he  hateful  today — think  of  tomorrow, 
remember  last  week.  Is  he  scowling,  recall 
his  smile.  Has  his  tongue  twisted  itself 
into  harsh  words — forget  not  the  sweet  ones 
you  have  caught  from  his  lips. 

Do  your  friend  justice.  Place  him  on  the 
scale  of  your  own  conjuring  and  weigh 
yourself  with  him.  Perhaps  after  all  he  is 
heavier,  a  better  man  than  you.  When  you 
judge  another  make  two  columns  in  your 
mind,  the  pros  and  cons.  Reckon  them  up 
as  you  would  a  sum,  and  subtract  one  result 
from  the  other.  If  there  is  more  good  than 
bad — more  that  is  delightful  than  repellant 
—more  sweetness  than  gall,  hold  fast  to  him 
forever.  You  have  found  a  jewel,  one  with 
a  flaw  to  be  sure,  but  a  jewel.  It  is  not 


84  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 

paste  nor  pebble,  but  a  gem.  It  will 
flash  in  a  comparatively  dark  place,  brighter 
than  in  the  sunshine.  Wear  it  on  your 
breast,  and  look  into  the  glass  when  the 
light  is  dim.  But  if  the  balance  is  against 
him,  if  the  cons  outweigh  the  pros,  avoid 
him.  He  may  shine  for  another,  but  not 
for  you.  By  no  amount  of  polishing  can 
you  make  a  diamond  of  him,  or  a  ruby,  or  a 
pearl.  Another  may,  but  not  you. 

Never  let  your  heart  deluge  your  head, 
when  friendship  comes  your  way.  The  head 
must  be  above  tears  and  smiles — in  clear 
cold  air — where  it  can  think. 

The  heart  is  a  fountain  whose  stream 
flows  forever,  warm  and  gushing.  You  can 
not  stop  it  nor  would  you.  But  keep  your 
head  high,  that  you  may  see  clearly,  to  turn 
the  course  of  the  waters  where  the  flowers  of 
friendship  can  best  grow.  It  is  better  to 
overlook  a  field  of  ice  with  cold  judging 
eyes,  than  to  raise  a  crop  of  weeds  in  a  soil 
watered  by  tears. 

Be  just  to  your  friend  and  you  will  deal 
squarely  with  yourself.  Await  his  coming 


OF   THE  HER  ME  TICS  85 

— It  may  be  a  long  time  ere  he  appears — 
You  can  afford  it — wait. 

Jewels  are  not  used  for  side- walks,  nor 
stars  for  street-paving.  You  may  find  the 
pearl  in  the  oyster  you  would  eat,  possibly 
at  the  retailers.  Be  sure  it  is  a  pearl  before 
you  set  it.  If  it  is  precious  conceal  it,  for 
there  are  thieves  about.  If  it  is  luminous 
hide  it,  for  it  might  dazzle  some  one  else. 

Your  friend  is  your  own — not  anothers- 
in  that  which  makes  him  yours  ;  otherwise 
go  friendless,  and  live  with  the  birds,  the 
mountains  and  the  sky.     In  nature  some 
aspect  of  you  is  concealed,  find  that. 


86  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 


THE  ONE  THING. 

Man  wearies  of  everything  save  one.  He 
plucks  the  flower  he  has  striven  after,  in- 
hales its  perfume  and  withers  with  it. 
Every  thing  tires  him,  even  the  most  loved. 
When  the  flame  goes  out,  he  finds  ashes — 
black  and  gray.  No  outer  splendor  holds 
his  eye  long.  He  turns  wearily  from  the 
vale  to  the  mountain,  and  again  from  the 
mountain  to  a  star.  In  the  face  of  the  star 
he  closes  his  eyes.  He  is  tired,  even  of 
the  smile  of  his  loved  friend.  At  times  he 
would  fly  from  it.  He  wearies  of  the  days 
of  his  youth — He  throws  no  kiss  after  them 
—He  is  glad  they  have  gone — He  wearies 
of  his  prime  and  seeks  to  escape  it,  into  the 
easy  chair  of  age.  He  wearies  of  old  age, 
and  of  the  old  clothes  which  alone  suit  it. 
He  makes  his  own  coffin  while  yet  alive. 
He  drives  the  nails  himself,  and  longs  to  lie 
down  therein,  even  before  he  dies.  He  is 
tired — surfeited  with  everything. 


OF  THE  HER  ME  TICS  87 

This  is  the  natural  man,  the  man  of 
rhythm.  He  rubs  off  the  down  from  the 
peach  and  eats  it — He  wins  a  heart  to 
trample  it — All  because  he  is  tired.  Be- 
cause the  demon — change — has  told  but 
half  his  story,  shutting  its  mouth  in  the 
midst  of  the  tale. 

But  the  One  Thing— What  of  the  One 
Thing  ?  Is  there  somewhere  a  bird  of  para- 
dise whose  feet  never  touch  the  earth  ?  Is 
there  a  gem  that  charms  the  eye  to  flash 
ever  ?  Is  there  a  flower  that  excites  one  to 
ecstasy  by  its  breath  ?  Is  there  a  song  that 
one  sings  always?  Is  there  a  land  where 
the  grass  never  withers  ?  Alas  !  no.  The 
One  Thing  is  subtle  and  mighty — It  dwells 
out  of  sight.  No  eye  has  beheld  it  nor  ear 
heard  its  voice.  Philosophy — Truth — fas- 
cinating as  the  Ideal,  faithful  as  the  Real, 
ready  at  all  times  every  where  to  fit  change 
to  change — as  the  lapidary  fits  gem  to  gem 
—linking  incident  to  incident,  mood  to 
mood,  hour  to  hour,  day  to  day,  year  to  year 
with  the  goldsmith's  art.  Of  IT— This 
power  which  ties  and  binds,  holds  and  con- 


SOME  PHILOSOPHY 


nects,  fits  and  matches — you  never  weary. 
The  mood  may  worry  you,  the  day  may  ex- 
haust you,  but  the  art  to  adapt  and  link 
them,  is  the  Master  Creative  Art — the 
magic  power,  which  if  once  you  feel,  will 
reveal  the  ONE  THING. 

The  charm  of  conquering,  solving,  blend- 
ing, combining,  is  the  charm  of  God.  It  is 
the  power  which  adapted  Earth  to  the  Sun 
and  Venus  to  Mars.  It  is  the  potency 
which  patterns  the  constellations  and 
spangles  the  sky  with  starry  designs.  This 
master  power  of  adjusting  our  moods  and 
our  hours  one  to  another — this  art  of  sway- 
ing to  environment,  has  in  its  essence  the 
charm  of  the  new — The  ecstasy  of  creation 
—This  Art  is  the  Philosopher's  own.  The 
normal  man  knows  nothing  of  it — He  is 
forever  tired — but  the  Sage  smiles  at  pros- 
perity, and  goes  with  it,  as  man  does  with 
woman  even  to  the  precipice  of  adversity, 
where  he  smiles  again  and  ties  a  knot — He 
has  bound  the  two  firmly  like  husband  and 
wife,  and  he  blesses  them  both.  The  Phil- 
osopher bares  his  head  to  the  gale  and  lets 


OF   THE  HERMETICS  89 

the  wind's  sharp  fingers  tear  at  his  blowing 
hair — He  suffers  the  knives  of  ice  to  prick 
to  his  bones — He  tests  himself  on  the  grind- 
stone of  fate — and  finds  the  new. 

Each  morn  a  new  sun  peers  over  the  bor- 
ders of  dawn — Each  eve  a  new  splendor 
melts  into  the  bosom  of  the  night — Each 
day  is  a  virgin  immaculate,  who  conceives 
and  gives  birth  to  a  Christ.  A  mystery 
appalling,  but  sweet,  challenges  the  Wise 
with  each  fresh  beat  of  his  heart,  for  to  him 
is  given  the  One  Thing — the  power  to 
Create. 

All  other  men  tire.  They  sicken  with 
the  stench  of  the  old,  the  fetid,  the  stale. 
They  shrink  from  the  same  dull  colors  and 
shapes — the  picture  comes  back  at  each  turn 
of  the  wheel — the  same.  They  start  at 
familiar  sounds,  the  shriek  of  the  whistle, 
the  roll  of  the  drum — the  same  from  cradle 
to  grave — the  same — But  the  Sage  !  He 
touches  the  old — A  Philosopher's  touch- 
as  soft  as  the  falling  of  snow — the  kiss  of  a 
friend — and  lo !  the  new . 


90  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 


THE  DEVIL. 


He  is  out  of  fashion.  He  went  off  the 
stage  with  Jonathan  Edwards  and  men  of 
his  cult.  The  masters  of  the  "  new 
theology ''  have  not  fist  enough  to  shake  at 
his  phantom,  so  they  deny  him.  They  stand 
in  their  pulpits  and  preach  goodness,  love, 
music,  flowers,  paradise.  They  believe  in 
an  eternal  heaven  of  splendors  without  the 
u  great  white  throne."  They  have  banished 
the  angels  and  the  harps,  and  they  give  you 
Nature  (when  she  smiles).  The  storms  they 
ignore.  When  the  wind  blows  they  become 
as  deaf  as  stones — They  hear  nothing. 
When  it  is  cold,  they  sit  over  their  church 
furnaces  and  declare  it  is  warm.  They  are 


OF  THE  HERMETICS  91 

as  one-sided  as  the  moon.  If  they  have 
another  face,  they  conceal  it.  This  is 
"  namby-pamby. ''  It  is  gush. 

We  face  facts.  We  believe  that  every- 
thing has  two  sides.  If  there  is  an  up, 
there  is  a  down.  If  there  is  a  white,  there 
is  a  black.  We  know  very  well  that  lilies 
thrive  in  mud,  and  roses  in  decay.  We  have 
seen  the  cat  eat  the  mouse  and  the  dog  kill 
the  cat.  Insects  destroy  trees,  and  elephants 
tread  on  worms.  We  are  also  aware  that 
man  builds  his  ladder  to  fame  out  of  dead 
bodies,  and  climbs  to  the  stars  to  the  tune 
of  dying  shrieks.  The  sea  fish  gorge  them- 
selves with  one  another,  the  air  fiends  in  the 
shape  of  birds  dive  out  of  heaven  after 
helpless  victims. 

You  may  call  the  Devil  by  whatever  name 
you  choose,  evil  is  a  fact  or  good  could  not 
be.  We  believe  in  the  Pairs — the  Paral- 
lels. Life  and  death  go  arm  in  arm.  Pain 
and  pleasure  are  close  linked.  Heaven  is 
on  the  verge  of  hell.  God  implies  the 
Devil.  We  believe  he  takes  a  thousand 
forms,  a  million,  a  billion.  He  is  not  con- 


92  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 

fined  to  hoofs  and  claws.  Like  that  of  Good 
his  coat  is  "many-colored." 

We  have  told  you  to  practice.  We  have 
spoken  emphatically,  and  you  ask  with 
reason—"  On  what  ?  "  On  the  Devil.  He 
is  the  best  muscle  developer  known.  He 
can  put  you  through  a  regular  course.  He 
will  teach  you  to  aim  a  straight  blow  and 
hit  between  the  eyes.  To  be  sure  you  will 
be  knocked  down  over  and  over  again,  but 
get  up.  To  lie  and  groan  is  to  give  him  a 
chance.  You  must  be  quick,  as  quick  as  he 
is.  You  will  grow  as  strong  as  a  Greek 
athlete,  and  be  ready  for  the  ring  on  all 
occasions.  He  does  you  a  good  turn  in  giv- 
ing you  the  chance.  In  time  you  will  glory 
in  your  own  strength  as  a  young  man  does. 
In  fact  the  Devil  is  mightily  afraid  of  the 
Philosopher,  he  prefers  the  nervous  man, 
one  who  loses  his  head. 

Philosophy  is  the  "  bete  noire"  of  the 
Arch  Fiend.  He  fears  naught  else  than 
that.  There  is  a  smile  on  the  Sage's  lip 
that  makes  his  majesty  shrivel.  There  is  a 
steadiness  in  the  wise  man's  eye  that  galls 


OF  THE  HERMETICS  93 

even  the  Devil.  He  is  sarcastic,  but  the 
Philosopher  is  more  so — and  when  the  fire 
fights  fire,  you  know  the  outcome. 

So  then  we  accept  him,  as  we  do  the  other 
side  of  heaven,  for  the  inner  implies  the 
outer— The  height  the  depth. 


94  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 


THE   PAIRvS. 


One's  illusions  vanish  one  after  another  ; 
what  today  we  deem  real  tomorrow  will  be  a 
dream.  We  are  building  day  after  day  upon 
the  shifting  sand,  and  the  tide  comes  up  and 
washes  the  shining  bits  away.  Hopes 
fondly  cherished  break  like  bubbles  or  drown 
our  hearts  in  tears. 

By  and  by  our  eyes  will  be  dry,  no  tears 
will  come,  and  we  will  stare  dimly  and 
straight  ahead  into  vacancy,  to  see  nothing, 
not  even  an  illusion.  Then  upon  all  men 
we  will  smile  a  ghastly  smile,  hoping  for, 
believing  in,  wanting  nothing.  At  this 
point  we  reverse  and  look  in.  Something 
appears,  some  one,  and  that  appearance,  that 
one  makes  the  illusion  plain.  This  appear- 


OF  THE  HER  ME  TICS  95 


ance  which  looks  into  our  eyes  is  the  Real, 
the  everlasting  mate  of  the  Unreal. 

Had  you  not  dreamed — Had  you  not  suf- 
fered— Had  you  not  sobbed  on  your  pillow 
at  night  alone — alone — Had  you  not  longed 
and  longed  when  the  stars  came  out — Had 
you  not  begged  the  grass-blades  to  speak  to 
you,  and  the  leaves  to  whisper  to  you — Had 
you  not  looked  on  the  back  of  your  friend 
whose  eyes  were  turned  elsewhere — Had  the 
sky  not  rained  on  you,  and  the  sea  sought 
to  clutch  you — Had  the  mirage  not  come 
nor  the  dim  island  faded,  the  Real  would 
have  failed. 

Mortal  man  goes  on  and  on,  plodding  and 
plodding;  he  eats,  he  drinks,  he  sleeps, 
alas!  he  does  not  dream.  His  wife  makes 
his  bed  and  his  bread.  The  beasts  in  his 
yard  are  his  kin.  He  dies.  No  castle  ever 
faded  out  of  his  sky.  No  bird  with  fire-tinted 
wing  flew  over  his  head ;  and  the  Real — 
the  face  he  has  failed  to  see. 

When  you  have  drank  the  wine  down  to 
the  dregs — When  the  golden  bowl  breaks— 
When   love  flies    off   to  the    moon — When 


SOME  PHILOSOPHY 


the  blood   congeals   and  will  not  flow,  and 
Beauty  flaunts  her  hair  in  your  face,  look  in. 

The  bank  must  need  follow  the  fickle 
river,  the  inconstant  river,  but  on  the  bank 
the  water-rushes  grow.  Ah  !  the  meander- 
ing stream.  Ah !  the  constant  shore  and 
the  water-rushes.  When  drowning  in  the 
cruel  river,  forget  not  the  shore  and  the 
faithful  reeds.  Wet  and  dripping  you  seek 
refuge  deep  within  the  rushes — deep  within 
the  rushes. 

Drenched  in  the  fog  of  illusion  you  rush 
inland  and  look  into  a  pair  of  faithful 
eyes.  I  have  brushed  the  cob-webs  from 
mine  forever,  the  spider's  web,  and  now  I  see 
straight  to  the  heart  of  a  star.  But  to  my 
friend  I  am  a  mystery.  Now  and  again  he 
hates  me,  and  yet  he  loves  me  too.  He 
turns  here  and  there  for  something  better  ; 
he  tries  to  go ;  he  lies  to  himself,  but  he 
comes  back. 

Look  well  to  the  opposites.  The  Pairs 
are  faithful.  The  dream,  the  illusion,  is  the 
other  half  of  the  Real.  It  shimmers  like 
the  light  on  the  sea — It  goes  and  comes  like 


T//K  IIKKMK'HCS 


the  moon — It  lives  and  dies  like  ripe  corn, 
but  the  arc  of  heaven  which  Iris  bears  in 
her  hands,  overshadows  her  never.  Iris 
still  brings  news  from  heaven  and  tells  the 
tale  of  Zeus. 


98  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 


ADONAI. 

To  invoke  Adonai  is  to  call  upon  that  in 
your  universe  of  consciousness  which  is 
akin  to  the  ecstasy  of  love,  by  no  means  a 
physical,  but  a  purely  spiritual  emotion. 
You  call  out  of  yourself,  into  your  conscious- 
ness, the  charm  and  holy  glamour  of  being. 
You  throw  yourself,  by  an  effort  of  will,  into 
a  state  where  soul  is  manifested  in  its 
beauty,  as  the  flowers  display  the  sex-charm 
of  plants.  You  call  up  from  the  depths  of 
soul  its  melody,  for  soul  in  its  most  gracious 
form  is  music,  the  singing  as  it  were  of  the 
bird  to  its  mate. 

To  invoke  Adonai  is  to  enter  the  world  of 
variety  where  habit  is  abandoned,  drudgery 
forgotten,  and  conventionality  is  no  more. 
All  things  common  are  hid  from  view.  It 
is  the  world  of  form,  of  sound,  of  languor, 
and  of  dream.  It  is  the  world  of  haze  and 


OF   THE  HERMETICS  99 

splendor  —  the  illumined  —  the  shadowy. 
Here  time  ceases,  the  past  melts  away,  the 
future  is  unforeshadowed. 

You  ask,  "Is  Adocai  a  spirit,  a  Being?  " 
We  answer,  there  is  a  Being,  there  are 
Beings  who  revel  in  this  Paradise,  who 
hear  these  sounds  and  see  these  sights 
— Beings  who  dwell  forever  in  a  dim  glory 
softened  by  a  veil  such  as  fell  over  Isis — 
Beings  whose  sight  is  clouded  by  tears 
of  rapture,  more  entranced  than  those  who 
smile — Beings  who  hear  voices  echoing  back 
and  forth  along  the  spaces  of  Heaven — 
Beings  who  see  tender  colors  when  their 
eyes  are  closed,  and  one  of  them  the  Mystics 
call  Adonai. 

Life  that  throes  and  throes  till  each  throb 
sings — Life  born  out  of  continence  till  every 
nerve  is  thrilling  with  its  own  identity,  is 
the  spell  which  Adonai  weaves  upon  him- 
self till  he  twines  his  form  in  rainbows  and 
flashes  light  from  his  deep  eyes,  even  as  the 
sun  throws  flame. 

Adonis  kissed  too  much  by  Venus  drags 
his  wings — Adonis  free  soars  upward. 


loo  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 

"  Can  we  "  you  ask,  "  Can  we  as  Mystics 
invoke  Adonai  ?  "  We  answer,  unless  you 
do,  you  are  doomed  to  see,  to  face  and 
struggle  with  the  common  place.  Crude 
ugliness  will  strike  you  hour  after  hour 
hard  blows — The  soul  of  things  will  be 
hid,  and  only  the  half  of  every  story 
will  be  told — Your  nostrils  will  be  greeted 
by  bad  smells — Your  eyes  with  ugly  sights 
— Your  ears  will  hear  revolting  sounds — 
The  barren  wash-day  grayness  of  the  world 
will  stare  you  in  the  face — Your  friends  will 
unveil  all  their  petty  faults,  the  very 
pimples  on  their  foreheads  will  stand  out — 
The  great  beyond  in  them  will  be  boxed  up 
in  illshaped  skulls — Their  tongues  will  say 
rough  things  and  lap  coarse  food — Ordin- 
ary, all  ordinary. 

You  have  no  power  to  discern  what 
they  have  brought  to  you,  what  they  yet 
will  bring — You  measure  but  the  size 
of  their  shoes,  and  count  the  spots  ou  their 
clothes — You  have  no  gift  for  looking  back 
nor  seeing  far  ahead — You  are  marching  in 
the  ranks  where  grease  and  oil  besmirch  the 


. 
OF  THE  HERMETICS  101 

hands  of  artisans — You  smell  of  lumber,  of 
fresh  fish  and  blood — You  toil  till  sweat 
soaks  through  your  clothes,  and  gazing  up 
you  think  it  rains. 

Your  mother  is  a  woman  who  breeds  and 
nurses  young — Your  father  is  a  man  who 
gloats  and  drinks — Your  brothers  kill  live 
things,  and  laugh — Your  sisters  stuff  rag 
dolls — Your  wife  courts  your  stomach — 
And  gnats  and  insects  suck  your  blood. 
You  have  no  heaven  nor  hell.  You  serve 
the  common  place. 

But  lo  !  how  this  doth  change  when  you 
besiege  the  pearly  gates  of  your  own  heart, 
and  to  the  half  truth  add  the  other  half. 
Does  he  come  in  the  sunlight  of  morning  or 
the  sunlight  of  evening — It  matters  not. 
Does  he  look  down  from  the  zenith  or  up 
from  the  depths — What  difference?  Does 
he  appear  without  or  within — Who  cares  ? 
He  is  Adonai  the  Beautiful  !  With  him 
you  get  the  full  meaning — the  illumination 
— the  glory.  When  you  see  him,  your  feet 
scorn  the  earth — When  you  hear  him,  you 
answer  back. 


102  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 


Venus  adores  and  yet  fears  him,  for  he 
scatters  light  as  he  moves,  and  the  flashes 
heat  and  thrill  you.  His  countenance 
beams  even  though  veiled,  and  his  eyes 
pierce  and  transfix  you.  All  things  seen 
through  the  mist  of  him  are  beautiful. 
Beside  each  leaf  on  the  tree  is  another  like 
silver,  which  the  sun  turns  to  gold. 

To  invoke  Adonai  is  not  always  to  bring 
him.  .  Oft  times  he  is  taken  by  force  like 
the  kingdom  of  heaven.  If  he  will  not  come 
by  your  wooing,  plunge  down  in  yourself 
and  drag  him  out  of  the  depths,  for  he  may 
be  asleep. 

Beware  of  the  common  place.  Better 
look  into  heaven  one  moment  and  down  into 
hell  the  next,  than  to  set  your  house  in 
strict  order,  starch  up  your  linen,  and  eat 
for  the  palate. 

Beware  of  the  common  place — That 
mood  where  you  yawn  and  stretch,  and  hunt 
out  your  aches  and  pains  as  old  people  do, 
who  gloat  over  sores  and  decay.  Beware  of 
scavengers,  buzzards  and  flies. 


OF  7 HE  HERMETICS  103 


MAGIC. 

You  may  follow  Christianity  to  the  yawn- 
ing grave,  you  may  suck  the  breast  of 
Buddhism  dry,  and  yet  miss  Magic — an 
Aphrodite  poising  on  the  foam  of  the  sea. 

The  magician  can  subtract  glamour 
from  the  heart  of  things  ;  he  can  manipu- 
late combinations — he  can  balance  on  foam. 
Out  of  himself  comes  a  magnetism  which 
envelops  and  transforms  environment.  As 
love  turns  hell  into  heaven,  so  the  magician 
plays  at  his  art. 

Nature  covers  the  woman's  skeleton  with 
voluptuous  curves  of  flesh — She  spreads  a 
pond  of  slime  with  water-lilies — She  bids 
exquisite  ferns  to  peep  from  ghastly  crevices 
— She  paints  the  sky  at  the  brink  of  the 
desert — sometimes — when  the  mood  is  on 


104  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 

her — sometimes.  She  touches  up  the  vul- 
ture in  the  empyrean,  till  he  has  the  majesty 
of  a  heaven  sent  messenger — She  glitters  in 
the  purity  of  the  gull  till  he  rivals  a  white- 
throated  angel — On  winter  she  breathes,  and 
brings  hot  splendor  out  of  snow  and  fire  out 
of  ice. 

Magic  never  goes  naked — She  is  as  real 
as  the  soul  of  woman,  but  she  drapes  herself 
as  did  Isis.  Her  eyes  look  at  you  through 
the  veil  of  her  hair — her  limbs  gleam  but 
from  the  meshes  of  a  net — She  has  the  art 
of  the  spider ;  she  catches  and  holds,  but 
unlike  it  she  never  devours  you. 

Her  food  is  the  pollen  of  flowers,  her  drink 
is  the  dew  on  their  breasts. 

Truth  is  truth,  but  she  is  sometimes  non- 
com  mital.  Whatever  she  bestows  is  one 
aspect  of  her — not  all.  Veiled  in  glamour 
she  gives  you  her  smile,  and  bewitches, 
tantalizes,  lures,  and  bewilders.  Her  form 
is  clear-cut  and  awful,  like  the  scars  on  the 
brow  of  Olympus,  but  her  smile  is  myriad 
and  seen  through  a  veil. 

Mystery  and  Magic  are  some  way  related. 


OF   THE  HERMETICS  105 

The  half  known  transfixes  you — its  spell 
pierces  you,  like  the  glance  of  a  wise  man's 
eyes.  The  mystery  of  the  moon  is  in  Magic 
— The  side  which  you  wonder  about  is  the 
half  that  charms.  If  the  satellite  turned, 
Love's  dream  would  vanish. 

We  hear  strange  rumors  of  Adepts  in 
Thibet  and  the  fakirs  in  India.  We  have 
read  fairy  tales  about  the  miracles  of  Christ, 
and  the  wonder  working  of  Mahomet.  We 
are  familiar  with  the  account  of  the  birth  of 
Gautama,  and  the  magic  of  Moses.  In  the 
face  of  it  all  we  would  tell  you,  that  this  is 
as  the  blowing  of  a  soap  bubble  compared 
with  the  mystery  of  the  seed  or  the  passion 
of  the  plant. 

Nature  is  a  hypnotist  and  a  magician. 
She  arrests  the  busy  man  in  his  round  of 
work,  and  holds  him  spell-bound  before  a 
growing  grass  blade — She  stops  the  devotee 
of  science  on  his  road  to  fame,  and  bewitches 
him  with  the  remains  of  a  mastodon — She 
glitters  in  the  scalpel  of  the  surgeon,  and 
flashes  on  the  edge  of  the  dissecting  knife — 
She  rouges  the  consumptive's  cheek,  and 


106  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 

tantalizes  Esculapius  with  microbes — She 
tempts  the  diver  to  risk  the  jaws  of  the 
shark,  and  turns  the  ills  of  the  oyster  into 
pearls — She  foils  the  explorer  with  her 
North  Pole,  and  entices  the  aeronaut  to  a 
pitiful  rivalry  with  the  chick- a-dee. 

The  poet  is  her  victim  par  excellence. 
He  sees  things  through  the  mist  of  his  own 
eyes — a  trait  from  nature  by  the  terrible  law 
of  heredity.  He  is  eternally  hypnotized  and 
walks  about  in  a  dream.  Nature's  spell  is 
on  him  from  birth  to  death,  and  he,  as  her 
true  child,  shines  by  his  own  light.  He  is 
not  a  planet  but  a  lesser  sun,  that  warms 
itself  at  its  own  fire.  He  generates  heat  and 
radiates  it  from  his  eyes  and  fingers.  Cold 
people  sit  at  his  feet,  as  beggars  lie  out  in 
the  light.  The  rabble  follow  him  as  the 
poor  followed  Christ.  They  touch  his  skirts 
and  warm  their  bodies  in  electric  heat.  Like 
the  magician  of  India,  he  draws  an  ignorant 
crowd,  who  know  nothing  except  that  he  is 
warm.  Each  word  of  his  is  a  spark,  which 
sets  something  on  fire.  He  is  rich  with 
smiles,  that  tickle  the  half-dead  nerves,  and 


OF   THE  HERMETICS  107 

metaphors  that  shock  the  heart  to  renewed 
life.  He  moves  in  a  glory  like  the  column 
of  fire,  and  he  casts  a  shadow  like  the  fallen 
cloud.  He  is  Ariel  captured  by  Earth.  He 
is  a  god  wedded  to  woman. 

But  what  of  Venus  Urania,  who  makes 
matches  in  heaven,  and  kindles  her  heart 
at  the  shrine  of  Vesta.  What  of  the  love 
that  blends  souls  rather  than  bodies,  and 
creates  her  children  in  celestial  spaces  on 
the  down  pillows  of  ether  ?  What  of  the 
splendor  of  Eden,  when  the  gods  walked  in 
the  garden,  and  the  serpent  lay  hid  in  the 
glitter  of  his  own  skin  ?  Even  yet  magic 
eyes  sweep  the  horizon,  where  the  sky  lies 
softly  on  the  breast  of  the  sea.  Even  yet, 
on  the  altar  of  Vesta,  burn  the  sacred  fires. 
Even  yet,  the  loves  of  paradise  hold  the  sun 
in  its  place — and  the  moon. 

Would  you  know  the  art  of  Magic? 
Would  you  discover  the  magician  in  your- 
self and  wake  him  out  of  sleep  ?  Retire 
within,  far  back,  away  from  things  seen  by 
the  natural  eye ;  and  the  long-lashed  lids 
of  a  spirit's  orbs  will  unloose — when,  lo ! 


loS  SOME  PHILOSOPHY 

the  land  of  dream  !  the  realm  of  memories 
stored  by  the  ages  in  you.  But  look — still 
farther  back,  to  the  magic  region  of  ice  and 
storm  and  snow,  when  the  world,  like  a  cold 
corpse,  lay  wrapt  in  her  icy  shroud — you, 
you  were  there.  Or  into  those  tropic  regions 
where  strange  plants  grew,  watered  by  mists, 
heated  by  a  seething  immensity  of  sun— 
you  were  there.  Or,  if  your  eyes  weary 
with  wonder,  and  the  fringed  lids  drop, 
listen  !  Hark  with  the  ears  of  a  spirit 
—backward — down  the  aeons  of  time.  Listen 
to  the  crashing  of  the  avalanches  of  the 
terrible  ice  period,  when  chaos  roared  as  the 
captain  shouts  in  a  storm  at  sea.  Listen  to 
the  strange  note  of  a  long-lost  bird  that 
lived  in  the  days  of  a  terrible  sun.  Listen 
to  the  voice  which  spoke  to  you,  ere  Christ 
traveled  the  banks  of  the  Galilee,  or  Caesar 
mastered  the  spirit  of  Rome.  //  is  speak- 
ing still. 

Magic  ! !  Away  with  the  fakir  fraud,  who 
gives  you  a  lie  for  a  paradox — while  truth  is 
truth.  Away  with  the  mummery  of  a  false 
act  and  a  sham  occultism — while  the  Phil- 


OF  THE  HERMETICS  109 

osopher's  stone  exists.  Away  with  the 
devil's  cauldron  or  the  craft  of  priests — 
while  the  great  laboratory  of  nature,  manipu- 
lated by  the  witches  of  science,  is  seething 
with  the  heat  of  divine  alchemy. 

Would  you  be  a  magician,  stir  up  the 
smoldering  coals  at  your  own  fireside. 
Begin  to  burn.  Feel  your  blood  hot  in  your 
veins.  Warm  yourself  with  memories  of 
sun-tinted  dreams.  Pray — pray — pray  at 
the  shrine  of  the  Sphinx. 


YC   15929 


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